


When the Day Met the Night

by Frequently_Humming



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Romance, First Meetings, Friendship/Love, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 12:00:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17243852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frequently_Humming/pseuds/Frequently_Humming
Summary: “You’re stalling, dude.  What do you want, me to babysit that small horse Finn calls a dog?”“Um, no, Gibraltar is taken care of,” Poe answered, cagily in Iolo’s opinion.  “Speaking of babysitting…”“Who was speaking of babysitting,” Iolo asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion.“You just were,” Poe said hastily, avoiding Iolo’s gaze.   “So, Finn and I are going away next week…”“You said that already,” Iolo pointed out flatly.“But Finn’s little brother just dropped a bomb and he’s coming out to visit on Monday,” Poe finished in an impressive rush of vowels and consonants.Iolo blinked, white noise buzzing in his ears the way it did when he got information he wasn’t prepared for.  The first thing that came to mind was, “When did Finn get a brother?”





	When the Day Met the Night

**Author's Note:**

> 2018 has been rough, right? Is that generally agreed upon?
> 
> Well, I'm going to finish it with one of the lightest stories I've ever written. Been working on this for a while and I hope it can make someone else smile.
> 
> Enjoy!

“Hello, my dearest friend in the whole wide world.”

 

“Sup,” Iolo replied around the drafter’s pencil in his mouth, glancing from his sketchbook to his tablet and back again.

 

“Your hair looks especially soft and silken today.”

 

“What do you want, Poe,” Iolo asked, moving his pencil from his mouth to behind his ear as he used his left thumb and pointer finger to zoom in on his wide screen.

 

“Maybe I just want to shower my best friend and roommate with compliments today,” Poe said cheerfully and not at all suspiciously, flopping onto the tan linen-upholstered couch and smiling charmingly over to the red-haired man at the large table by the windows.

 

“In that case, don’t let me stop you,” Iolo shrugged, using his finger to rotate the rough outline of a figure on the screen.  Something about the shoulders didn’t look right.  Maybe the proportions were off…

 

“Well…the hair thing this is all I got,” Poe admitted, and Iolo finally looked up, blinking.  “But come on, you gotta give me something to work with here!”

 

“Excuse you,” Iolo drawled, standing up straight and crossing his arms, trying to hide the _Persona 4_ art in his t-shirt.  “I didn’t know you were holding a fucking beauty contest in our living room _again_.”

 

“First off,” Poe countered, mockingly affronted, “that was a fashion show—for charity, no less—and second, you enjoyed the hell outta that so don’t lie.”

 

“Maybe,” Iolo allowed with a slight smirk, which Poe echoed knowingly.

 

“You and that drag queen were making out like you invented it.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I know—not on the counter,” Iolo dismissed easily, leaving his work setup and moseying over to the living room, rubbing the heels of his palms against his eyes as he collapsed back into the squishy armchair they salvaged from a neighbor who moved away three months earlier.  “So what’s up?”

 

“Uh, so, you know,” Poe began haltingly, his hands fidgeting with his cellphone, “Finn and I are going away next week and--,”

 

“Nope, maybe you can mention it a few more times, you loved-up single-minded bastard,” Iolo interrupted exaggeratedly, cushioning his cheek against his fist.

 

“Shut up,” Poe rolled his eyes.  “Just cause you’re jealous--,”

 

“You can keep the love-drunk, glossy-eyed, co-dependent shit all to yourselves, thanks.”

 

“Okay, now tell me how you really feel.”

 

“Nah, you don’t want that,” Iolo joked, adding a relaxed smile for his friend’s benefit.  Poe smiled back with a nod, and Iolo kicked out his legs and crossed his ankles.  “You’re stalling, dude.  What do you want, me to babysit that small horse Finn calls a dog?”

 

“Um, no, Gibraltar is taken care of,” Poe answered, cagily in Iolo’s opinion.  “Speaking of babysitting…”

 

“Who was speaking of babysitting,” Iolo asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

 

“You just were,” Poe said hastily, avoiding Iolo’s gaze.   “So, Finn and I are going away next week…”

 

“You said that already,” Iolo pointed out flatly.

 

“But Finn’s little brother just dropped a bomb and he’s coming out to visit on Monday,” Poe finished in an impressive rush of vowels and consonants.

 

Iolo blinked, white noise buzzing in his ears the way it did when he got information he wasn’t prepared for.  The first thing that came to mind was, “When did Finn get a brother?”

 

“He’s had one for years,” Poe said with a one-shouldered shrug, fidgeting with his phone again.  “He talks about him…sometimes.”

 

“If you say so.”  Then a dark thought occurred to the redhead.  “How little is _little_?”

 

“Like twenty…ish.”

 

“Fuck off.”

 

“No, wait, hear me out,” Poe hurried on, leaning forward and clasping his hands together, fingers folded together beseechingly.  Iolo’s upper lip curled into a scowl.  “You don’t have to watch him or anything.  He has a key to Finn’s and Finn is gonna set him up with food and cash and about fifty pages of suggested activities--,”

 

“Is this brother twenty-ish or ten-ish,” Iolo asked, alarm rising behind his ribcage, visions of a child running loose around the city and him somehow responsible for it.

 

“Seriously, I’m ninety percent sure he’s twenty,” Poe assured, eyes wide.  “Finn’s just going overboard—you know how he is.  He feels guilty because he hasn’t seen Bastian since Christmas, but we’ve already had the cabin booked for months--,”

 

“Lord help me if you tell me about this damn cabin again,” Iolo breathed, and Poe gulped audibly.

 

“But we’ll be back on Sunday and Bastian out here for two weeks so Finn’s trying to make it work,” Poe said with a grimace.  “But Finn was thinking and—and Bastian doesn’t know anyone in Portland and he’s never been to Portland and--,”

 

“Oh my God, _what_ ,” Iolo groaned, leaning away from his friend, who just shifted closer in opposition.

 

“Can we give him your number?  Just for emergencies in case he gets lost or gets hurt or gets dead--,”

 

“If he’s gonna call me from beyond the grave you better not give him my number,” Iolo blurted out.

 

“So, you’ll do it,” Poe asked, perking up, whole face lifting with hope.

 

“No,” Iolo frowned tightly, angry at his slip.

 

“Just emergencies,” Poe wheedled, drumming his fingers against Iolo’s arm through the thick sleeve of the redhead’s green hoodie.  “Nothing less than a Code Red.”

 

Iolo nibbled on his bottom lip, thinking it over.  It wasn’t like he had to live with this brother; in fact, if he was anything like Finn, the kid would probably go off and do his own thing…  And Code Reds don’t happen every day, right?

 

“Whatever,” Iolo grumbled finally, but Poe knew exactly what that meant.

 

“You are my hero, Iolo.”

 

“I better fucking be.  Can I go back to work now or are you gonna make up a sister I need to chaperone too?” 

 

“Don’t tempt me.”

 

_Monday, July 2 nd_

 

Iolo groaned miserably, face down on the wood table.  The character sucked, the sketch sucked, the animation sucked, he sucked.  He was gonna end up living in a box, eating gravel, remembering the good old days when he had a roof and a bed.

 

And his phone was ringing…probably work to tell him he was fired because he _sucked_.

 

“Hello,” he answered, voice muffled from his nose squished against the table top, his phone on speaker next to his right ear.

 

“Hi, _Iolo Arana_ ,” came an unfamiliar loud and over-emphasizing voice.  “I know what you’re thinking.”

 

“Who the hell is this?”

 

“You’re thinking,” the voice continued without hesitating, “ ‘what on earth is _Bastian Skywalker_ doing, calling me on a Monday afternoon, when he knows I have a _very_ _important_ project to do.’”

 

“Huh,” Iolo grunted pushing himself up to sit, blinking against the bright sunlight now streaming through his west-facing windows.  How long had he been lying there?

 

“Well, I’m sorry to put you through all this trouble,” the voice—Bastian, Iolo figured—said with a deep, dramatic sigh, “but really, it’s all Finn’s fault.  He should’ve told the dog groomer gestapo that I was picking up Gibraltar today.”

 

“Dog groomer gestapo,” Iolo repeated incredulously, a slight tremor of laughter sneaking into his tone despite himself.

 

“Exactly,” Bastian agreed vehemently, and Iolo could picture the decisive nod that accompanied the statement.  “But they have you on the super-secret special list of honored individuals allowed in the presence of _my_ dog so...”

 

“Oh my God,” Iolo groaned, picking up his phone while massaging his fingertips against his left temple with his free hand.  “I need to come to the groomers?”

 

“Yes, please, before they call the police,” came the hushed fervent answer before Bastian’s voice returned to its louder pitched volume.  “I know that you have that _project,_ but it’ll only take a _second_.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m on my way,” Iolo grumbled, sliding of the table stiffly, his right knee protesting the movements he was forcing on it as he slumped to his flipflops by the door.  “Try not to compare anyone to Nazis before I get there.”

 

“But, after you’re here, it’s fair game,” Bastian asked somewhat cheekily.

 

“Give me five minutes,” Iolo ordered, grabbing his house key and wallet from the basket hanging next to the door, shoving both into his back pocket one-handedly.

 

“That’s not a ‘no,’” Bastian retorted, sing-song, and Iolo ended the call with his thumb before letting himself out of his apartment, a small wisp of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips for no apparent reason.

 

Seven minutes later and six blocks away (the lights were against him), Iolo pushed open the door to the Happy Paws Pet Groomers and the small bells jingled high-pitched and cheerful.  The first thing that caught his eye was a short young woman behind the tall, bright yellow-painted front desk, who directed an exasperated, almost tortured look his way.  Iolo raised both eyebrows in reply before looking around the small waiting room, gaze landing on the other occupant with curiosity.

 

The man was lanky, as if he might have a growth spurt at any moment, his legs kicked out on either side of a tie-dye duffle bag, his toes bopping in the air at a pace that did not match the rhythm of the peppy top-40s song playing through the shop’s speakers.  He had a mass of wiry dark curls, held back by a bright red bandana, and his eyes were trained on the cellphone screen in his hands, lips pursed in a small petulant pout.

 

The bells tinkled again as the door closed behind Iolo, and the other man glanced up at the sound.  His brown eyes met Iolo’s blue ones before dropping back to his screen and looking back with a wide beaming smile.

 

“ _Iolo Arana_ , you came to rescue my dog,” Bastian declared theatrically, scrambling to his feet and then Iolo was stumbling back as the younger man launched himself into Iolo’s chest, his arms around the redhead’s neck.  “Seriously, thank you thank you thank you,” he breathed into the shell of Iolo’s ear, and Iolo’s shoulder twitched at the moist air.

 

“Yeah, you can stop that,” Iolo stated flatly, his arms staying at his sides while the other continued to cling to him.  The woman behind the counter sent Iolo a look of sympathetic disgust behind Bastian’s back, and for some reason it prompted Iolo to raise a hand and pat the younger man between the shoulder blades.

 

“I promise I’ll buy you all the Cheetos you want, any flavor,” Bastian whispered, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet, his hair tickling Iolo’s cheek.

 

“Who told you I like Cheetos,” Iolo asked, mildly concerned what kind of information Finn had felt necessary to share.

 

“No one.  I can just tell.  It’s, like, my superpower,” Bastian babbled, tucking his chin over Iolo’s shoulder and showing no sign of releasing his hold any time soon.  “I’m really good at guessing snack types.”

 

“Okay, that’s weird,” Iolo acknowledged, gripping the collar of Bastian’s white t-shirt and pulling.  Bastian took two staggering steps back, a dazed-looking smile gracing his face as he blinked at the redhead.  “Stay here and try to look less crazy.”

 

“Got it,” Bastian replied with a serious nod, adding a small salute before proceeding to turn and inspect much too intently the line of photographs of poodle haircuts, hands clasped behind his back as if he was in an art museum.

 

Iolo rolled his eyes up to ceiling, inhaled deeply, and moved to the front desk where the woman was waiting expectantly.  “Hey, I’m here to pick up Gibraltar.”

 

“Gibraltar Aloysius Tyrone--,”

 

“Don’t help me,” Iolo shot over his shoulder as he passed his driver’s license across the counter.

 

“Sorry, Iolo Arana,” came the not-even-slightly contrite answer.

 

“Whatever, Bastian Skywalker,” Iolo chimed back, exchanging blinks with the woman across from him at the bizarre conversation.

 

“Wait here, Mr. Arana,” the woman—Sasha, unless the nametag lied—said primly, handing back the identification card, and Iolo cocked an eyebrow in challenge as she left through the half door behind the counter.

 

“She hates me,” Bastian mentioned unashamed, moving onto the pictures of happy Pomeranians frolicking in retouched grass when Iolo glanced back.  “I think I was kinda annoying—but I didn’t know this was the freaking Fort Knox of pets!  I’ve picked up children from daycare with less hoopla.”

 

“Well, you know,” Iolo mumbled uncomfortably, scuffing the toe of his sandal on the linoleum tiled floor, “you can always make another kid.”

 

Bastian burst out laughing, high and too loud for the small space, and Iolo wondered if that was the other man’s default volume.  A second in to those considerations, Bastian’s laughter was joined by a deep excited bark.

 

“Gibby!  Gibby, come here,” Bastian called, dropping to his knees instantly as the barking continued, the head of a large German Shepard popping over the gate, tongue lolling.  “Gibby!”

 

“I think they might know each other,” Iolo told Sasha blandly, taking some satisfaction at the flush that rose in her cheeks as she opened the latch on the side of the desk and the dog bolted into Bastian’s open arms.

 

“Aw, Gibby, did ya miss me,” Bastian asked, giggling excitedly and childishly as Gibraltar lavished the man’s face with long sloppy licks.  “I missed you so much,” he went on, his arms wrapping around the big dog’s neck and burying his face in the thick glossy fur.

 

“Do I need to pay or something,” Iolo asked, turning his back on the affectionate reunion happening on the floor.

 

“Uh, Finn took care of it this morning,” Sasha answered, handing over the black leash.  “Have a good day,” she added, her voice turning up as if she skeptical about the possibility. 

 

“Yeah,” Iolo drawled back drily, jerking his chin in her direction before moving over to where Bastian was scratching Gibraltar’s ears energetically.  “How ‘bout we blow this popsicle stand?”

 

“Ooo, yeah!  Do you think Finn has popsicles,” Bastian asked excitedly, getting to his feet while Iolo clipped the leash onto Gibraltar’s collar.  As soon as he straightened, Bastian snatched the leash loop from his grip and traipsed to the door, the German Shepard following behind with his eyes trained on the young man, leaving Iolo to grab the forgotten luggage before hurrying out of the shop.

 

“Seriously, how old are you,” Iolo asked, genuinely concerned there was a freakishly tall eleven-year-old with his phone number.

 

“Twenty and four days,” Bastian said proudly as he strolled down the sidewalk with confident strides, chin lifted cockily.  “I thought I’d celebrate with Finn, but he had to go and get a _boyfriend_ —like, who does that?”  

 

“Dorks,” Iolo stated definitively.  “And idiots.”

 

“Exactly,” Bastian moaned, tossing his head back with a long-suffering look.  “Hey, where are we going?”

 

“Uh…Finn’s place,” Iolo asked with a confused frown.

 

“Oh, awesome!  Is it this way?  I’ve never been—I think he told me the address--,”

 

“Great,” Iolo muttered to himself, grabbing the other man’s thin arm and dragging him around the corner.  “This is just great.”

 

“Hey, what’s your opinion on licorice,” Bastian asked abruptly, easily letting himself be guided.

 

“Delicious,” Iolo answered mindlessly, steering man and dog along the street.

 

“Correct,” Bastian praised, training a squinty grin over to Iolo, who noticed to his surprise that the twenty-year-and-four-day-old man was looking him in the eye.  With all his short friends, the redhead had gotten used to craning his neck down when talking to someone.  Bastian had to be nearly six-foot, which was interesting.  “Next question: are peppers fruits?”

 

“I don’t care,” Iolo said, drawing to a halt in front of the five-story brick building with a bookstore on the first level.  “You got a key, right?”

 

“This is it?  It looks really nice—are you sure Finn lives here?”

 

“No, this is all a very elaborate plot to murder you and your dog in broad daylight.”

 

“Okay, now that’s believable,” Bastian laughed, draping the loop of the leash around his wrist and starting to pat his pants.  “I had them when I went to the airport…. damn, I think I put them in my bag—which I left at the puppy prison…”

 

“You mean this,” Iolo asked pointedly, holding up the atrociously colorful bag.  Bastian’s eyes darted from Iolo’s expressionless face to the duffle before grinning toothily and holding out both hands, making ‘gimme’ motions. 

 

“Iolo Arana, you are something else,” he announced with a certain degree of pomp and circumstance as he accepted his bag and unzipped the front pockets.

 

“You can stop saying my full name whenever,” Iolo informed the younger man as he riffled around.  Feeling useless, the redhead shoved his hands deep in his pockets and looked around, hoping no one he knew was out.

 

“Right, okay, I can do that.  It’s just a really good name.  _Iolo Arana_.  It’s like a song, you know,” Bastian asked brightly before letting out a small gasp and holding up the ugliest keychain Iolo had ever seen.

 

“What the _fuck_ is that?!”

 

“It’s a pink elephant riding a motorcycle with sunflowers for wheels, as drawn by a six-year-old girl named Dylan.”

 

“It’s hideous,” Iolo stated without hesitancy.

 

“I think it’s called art,” Bastian shrugged carelessly.  “There’s this toy and you can draw something and then it gets, like, melted onto plastic and you can put it on a necklace or a bracelet or something.  I kinda wanted to buy one but it was stupid expensive and I didn’t know how to ask Finn for fifty bucks so I could go to Toys-R-Us without sounding like an idiot so--,”

 

“I’ll tell you now, it’s not possible to say any of that without sounding like an idiot,” Iolo interrupted decisively.  His words were met with the first moment of silence since Iolo’s phone rang and the redhead shot a quick curious look at the younger man, wondering if he’s gone too far.  But Bastian was still smiling, looking slightly punch-drunk, and Gibraltar was sitting at his feet, looking at Iolo with more scrutiny than Iolo thought was acceptable for a dog.  “You okay?”

 

“Yeah, I’m great,” Bastian nodded, hefting his bag over his shoulder.  “So, you wanna come in?  I’ll drop off my stuff and then we can--,”

 

“I’ve got to get back to work.”

 

“Oh, shit, really?  Do you actually have an important project—I was just making that up to annoy the pet warden.”

 

“I mean, it’s kinda important to me,” Iolo said, left corner of his lips curling up.  “It pays me and shit.”

 

“That’s good—jobs are kinda supposed to pay you and shit.”

 

“Well, they’re better when they do,” Iolo allowed with a shrug.  “So, uh, bye.”

 

“Bye, Iolo Ar—uh, bye, Iolo,” Bastian corrected quickly.  Iolo nodded once and headed off, knocking his shoulder against the younger man’s gently as he passed.  At the corner he glanced back for a second, and, seeing Bastian and Gibraltar entering the apartment building, kept walking.

 

…

 

“So, do ya miss me yet?”

 

“Not even a little.”

 

“You suck, Arana,” Poe muttered, his voice staticky through Iolo’s phone speaker.  Iolo smiled to himself, doing a final rotation of his progress for the day—the left profile was damn near perfect and he couldn’t even remember what he was freaking out about earlier that afternoon.  Maybe he’d just needed to clear his head…  “Hello?  Are you listening to me?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, the cabin is awesome, Finn is awesome, you’re awesome,” Iolo listed off blandly, saving his work and powering down his tablet for the night.

 

“I didn’t say any of that,” Poe retorted.

 

“Then you were thinking it really loudly,” Iolo shot back mildly, wandering over to the kitchen and pulling open the fridge to evaluate the options.

 

“Maybe I was, maybe I wasn’t,” Poe joked, and Iolo snorted, holding the fridge door open with his hip and grabbing the bag of spinach.  He tossed it over his shoulder where landed with a crinkle on the counter before he reached for the block of feta cheese and jar of green olives.  “For real, though, Bastian’s flight got in today so, you know, if you get a call from an unknown number don’t ignore it.”

 

“I am well aware that little hurricane has landed in Portland,” Iolo replied, turning away and letting the fridge close with a thump.  He grabbed a handful of cherry tomatoes from the collider next to the sink and squeezed his cellphone between his ear and shoulder so he could open the cabinet and grab a bowl.

 

“What, he called you already?”

 

“He sure as hell did,” Iolo agreed with a smirk, placing the bowl on the counter and dropping the tomatoes in, lining it up neatly with the olives and cheese.  “He needed me to rescue Gibraltar from—and I’m not making this up—the _dog groomer gestapo_.”

 

“The what?!”

 

“Dude, I dunno how Finn found these high-security shampooers,” Iolo chuckled.  “They didn’t believe the kid was worthy of taking Gibraltar—not that I really blame them, because the guy comes off as a bit of a flake--,”

 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, I need you to slow down.”

 

“—so I had to go show my face or else Finn’s brother was gonna get arrested for dog-napping or some shit,” Iolo finished, fully smiling now because it was still ridiculous, even thinking about it a second—or fifth—time.

 

“Uh,” Poe exhaled, sounding uncertain.  “I—I don’t, hey, Finn, can you--,”

 

“It’s whatever, Poe,” Iolo dismissed, pulling the chef’s knife out of the block and grabbing the small wooden cutting board of from behind the sink’s faucet.  “No one died--,”

 

“Oh my God, what did he do,” came Finn’s alarmed voice, and the redhead rolled his eyes, not appreciating the existence of the speaker phone function.

 

“Nothing, it’s fine.  He didn’t do anything—it was kinda funny.”

 

“Was it an actual emergency or was he just bothering you,” Finn asked tiredly, and Iolo felt himself bristle at the question.

 

“He wasn’t—it’s was five minutes out of my day, guys.  It wasn’t like he was making me run all over Maine or something.”

 

“I told him you were only there for emergencies,” Finn grumbled darkly, and Iolo sighed, poking the tip of the knife’s blade into the cutting board and turning it idly.

 

“Don’t make this into a big deal.  He called me, I got Gibraltar, I showed him where you lived, I left.”

 

“He knows where I live.  I texted him the address,” Finn pointed out, still sounding angry in a subdued way.

 

“Well, I was already there so—you know what, I’m not doing this,” Iolo decided.  “You two are on vacation so stop bugging me.”

 

_Tuesday, July 3 rd_

 

Iolo had a routine, one that worked really well for him, even if Poe mocked him for it.  Just because Poe was allergic to the idea of schedules didn’t mean Iolo had to live in a constant fog of spontaneity and randomness.  On weekdays, if Iolo didn’t go in to the office—which he only did for team meetings and the occasional obligatory face-showing to remind the higher-ups that he was an actual human collecting a paycheck and not a computer program—he woke up at six, went for a jog, showered, and then worked until his alarm went off at 1 in the afternoon, signaling it was time for lunch of some kind.  By two, he was back at his computer and most likely didn’t move from that spot until his alarm went off at six and he either ignored it until he was ready to call it a night or went and made dinner.  It was boring, even Iolo could acknowledge that, and it rarely made him want to get out of bed, but it was steady and reassuring and that was all Iolo really needed.  And with Poe and Finn gone for the week, the regular causes of interruption were removed from Iolo’s world and he was settling in to what was bound to be a regular day.

 

Which was why when the doorbell rang at 5:27 PM without warning, Iolo didn’t notice between the _Kingdom Hearts_ score playing in the background and his focus on transferring a particular scowl that looked great in 2D on the sketches he was sent to a 3D model he was attempting to create with his stylus and tablet.

 

The doorbell chimed again, and Iolo lifted his head, blinking blurrily as his apartment came into focus.  Next came a stream of ringing as the person on the other side of the door rapidly pressed the button over and over, and Iolo let out a deep groan and pushed himself away from his desk, the four-wheeled stool rolling back, and the redhead jumped off before it hit the wall.  His knee ached dully as Iolo tried to shuffle to his door as fast as possible to stop the piercing buzzer.

 

He wrenched open the door and his sarcastic “Can I help you” died on his tongue.

 

“I’m here to say I’m sorry,” Bastian announced revelatory, his too-wide smile firmly in face as Iolo blinked, gaze dropping to where Gibraltar was sitting regally on Poe’s multilingual welcome mat.  “I brought dinner too.”

 

“How did you get in here,” Iolo asked, the first of many questions that leapt to mind, although he wasn’t sure if it was the most pressing.

 

“Oh, Finn left me your address _for emergencies_ ,” the twenty-year-and-five-day-old man shrugged with a small sigh.  “And when I got here some guy recognized Gibby and let me in—practically walked me to your door, actually.  Good thing you know me, right?  Like, imagine if I was a murderer?”

 

“I am,” Iolo stated.  “Vividly.”

 

Bastian laughed, and Gibraltar decided it was time to enter and pushed his way into the apartment between Iolo’s left leg and the doorframe.  “I got you a mushroom burger,” the younger man added, following his dog, unconcerned that Iolo hadn’t moved out of his way. 

 

“Why,” Iolo asked, looking around the hallway for this mystery neighbor of his that let potential killers in without warning.  Seeing no one, the redhead turned his attention to the other problem, who was settling himself on the couch and busying himself with a large white plastic take-out bag he’d brought.

 

“Well, I stalked you on Facebook--,”

 

“Fuck me,” Iolo groaned, rubbing the side of his pointer fingers across his eyes.

 

“—and based on the number of seitan jokes on your wall, I figured you’re a vegetarian.  Or Satan,” Bastian finished with a self-satisfied smirk.  “But if you’re not, you can have mine.  I’ve never had a shitake burger, but it can’t be worse than the eggplant mash Finn made for Thanksgiving two years ago,” he finished, rooting through the bag now on Iolo’s coffee table as Gibraltar leveled himself up onto the couch cushion next to Bastian.

 

“Off,” Iolo ordered firmly, blinking in surprise as both man and dog slid down to the floor without comment.  “I—I meant—you know, whatever,” he decided with a shake of his head, his eyes darting over to his computer screen.  “I’m working.”

 

Bastian looked up, head tilted to the right.  “I can leave.  Do you like sweet potato or regular potato?”

 

“Sweet,” Iolo answered, thrown a little by the about-face.  He’d figured the younger man would have put up a bit of a fight.

 

“Okay,” Bastian nodded, no longer smiling but also not frowning.  He fished out a tinfoil-wrapped bundle, placed it on the low wood table, and then pulled out a tall white paper cup of orange fries.  “They also gave me a shit-ton of ketchup.  You want it?”

 

“Yeah, that’s…cool,” Iolo said, not really sure why his toes were curling uncomfortably as he watched Bastian drop a handful of ketchup packets on the table and get to his feet.  “Um, you said you were apologizing for something?”

 

Bastian let out a breathy huff of laughter, pushing his green and white bandana higher up his forehead.  “Finn called me.  Said I bothered you yesterday.  But it’s not really a good apology if I’m bothering you _now_.”

 

“Finn’s a moron,” Iolo replied mindlessly, adding a quick “sorry” in case that might be offensive to Finn’s brother.

 

Apparently it wasn’t if Bastian’s returning grin was anything to go by.  “Yeah.  Yeah, he kinda is, Iolo Arana.”

 

The left corner of the redhead’s lips twitched.  “Right.  Well.  If you can…hang out for the next twenty minutes or something…”

 

“I can.  I can hang,” Bastian agreed quickly was a floppy nod.

 

“Great,” Iolo said, sounding less dry and sarcastic than he was aiming for and he quickly turned back to his workspace.  “I’m done at six.”

 

“You won’t even know I’m here.”

 

That promise sounded pretty empty to Iolo, who plugged his earbuds in with the wistful thinking that he might be able to drown out Bastian’s inevitable pattering and Gibraltar’s panting presence.  He figured the chances were slim that he’d get anything done, but he turned up the volume and picked up his stylus and evaluated his progress.

 

When his alarm blared out ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ Iolo jumped a solid foot into the air.  A faint cackling filtered past his earbuds, and he jerked them out with a glare at the man, still sitting on the floor, the large German Shepard curled around his back and sides.

 

“Screw you,” Iolo informed the younger man mildly as he saved and shut down his work for the night.

 

“ _So you think you can love me and leave me to die_ ,” Bastian sang obnoxiously and off-pitch, rocking his head along with the beat and tapping the bottom of the red colored pencil against his chin.

 

Iolo rolled his eyes, turning off the alarm and then shoving his phone into his pocket.  “What are you doing,” he asked, walking over.  He considered his options for a moment before slowly dropping down to sit on the area rug across the low table from the other man.

 

“I,” Bastian began dramatically, “am coloring a mandala with reckless abandon.”  Iolo’s eyes went wide, breath catching in his throat with a choke, and Bastian smirked.  “Don’t worry, it’s the visitor’s coloring book,” he said, holding up the book from his lap, ‘Guest’ scrawled across the cover in permanent marker.  “And the pencils didn’t have your name on them either.”

 

“I’m kinda weird about my stuff,” Iolo said, feeling like some kind of explanation was necessary.  “I know it’s kinda psychotic.”

 

“Eh, not really,” Bastian shrugged carelessly as he replaced the scattered colored pencils back into their box.  “Your stuff, your place, your rules, right?”

 

“It’s…a problem,” Iolo offered, because he knew it was.

 

“I don’t think it is.  Can we have dinner now,” Bastian asked smoothly, putting the coloring book and pencil box to the side.  Iolo noticed through the clear plastic that the colored pencils were in perfect gradation order and smiled.

 

“Yeah, pass me the shitake.  You’re joking about stalking me on Facebook, right?”

 

“I mean, not really,” Bastian smiled, handing over the wrapped burger with one hand and pushing the cup of sweet potato fries closer to the redhead with the other.  “Like, it’s not like I was memorizing your info or anything.  But I was curious.”

 

“Curiosity killed that cat,” Iolo mentioned.

 

“And satisfaction brought it back,” Bastian retorted victoriously.  “Why don’t people ever finish that saying?  The end is the best part!”

 

Iolo chuckled, scratching the back of his neck.  “I dunno.  So, what did you find out?”

 

“Besides the vegetarian thing?  Not much,” Bastian replied, beginning to unwrap his dinner.  “You don’t post much.  Your partner tags you in a lot though.”

 

“Partner,” Iolo repeated, brow creasing in thought as he nibbled the end of a fry.  “What partner?”

 

“You know.  The guy with the nice hair and five o’clock shadow and happy eyes,” Bastian answered, taking off the top bun of his burger and removing the sliced onions with his finger.  “Named after a poet, I think.”

 

“Poe.  Poe Dameron,” Iolo said, blinking.

 

“Yeah, that’s him.  Tags you a bunch of pictures and stuff.”

 

“You—you know he’s the one your brother is dating,” Iolo asked haltingly.  Bastian’s head popped up, eyes blown in shock.  “Poe’s my roommate.”

 

“Finn’s dating that guy,” Bastian repeated incredulously, a slice of bacon forgotten pinched between his fingers and Gibraltar eyed it hopefully.  “For real?”

 

“Yeah, no, that’s actually happening,” Iolo confirmed with a slow nod.  “It’s been going on for a while.”

 

“Like, a month or something, right?”

 

“Um.”  Iolo swallowed, pushing himself up.  “Sure.  You want a drink?  I need a drink.”

 

“What do you mean by ‘sure,’” Bastian asked suspiciously twisting around onto his knees as Iolo made a beeline for the fridge.

 

“I mean ‘sure,’ like ‘yeah,’” Iolo grumbled, pulling open the fridge door.  “We have beer and—wait, are you allowed to have alcohol?”

 

“In the eyes of the law, no.  In the eyes if everyone else…still no, actually,” Bastian acknowledged with a slight pout that Iolo caught sight of when he glanced back.  “I can do water or something.”

 

“Uh, we have,” Iolo trailed off, bending at the waist to inspect.  “Pomegranate juice.  Don’t ask me why.”

 

“I could go for some don’t-ask-me-why pomegranate juice,” Bastian’s voice said, and Iolo nodded into the fridge, pulling out a bottle of Sam Adams and the juice before straightening, turning, and letting out an undignified yelp to find the younger man suddenly right in front of him, boxing him against the refrigerator.  “How long has Finn been dating your roommate?”

 

“Jesus Christ, how did you do that,” Iolo panted, leaning back into the cool metal door behind him.  He knew for a fact there were five squeaky floorboards between the couch and the kitchen, and this ninja had avoided them all.

 

“Iolo,” Bastian sighed tiredly.  “Just tell me.”

 

“I dunno what I know anymore,” Iolo hedged, shoving the curved bottle of dark red juice into Bastian’s chest and using it to push the younger man back two steps.  “Look, maybe Finn’s got reasons for--,”

 

“He’s always got reasons,” Bastian grumbled, picking his thumb nail against the ridges of the juice cap as he cradled the juice bottle.  “But, like, he _is_ my brother—that gives me full disclosure rights, right?”

 

“I—I don’t know about that.  Did he tell you they’d only been together a month,” the redhead asked, because that would fall under information Poe should know.

 

“No,” Bastian ground out, teeth clenching as he swallowed.  The younger man’s jaw bone looked chiseled when he did that, Iolo noticed unconsciously.  “He _said_ he was going on a trip with his boyfriend; I asked when he got one of those; he said, ‘recently’; I asked, ‘like a month or two’; and he goes ‘something like that.’”  

 

“Ah,” Iolo exhaled, moving over to the sink where the collection of bottle openers was hanging on a hook to the right of the faucet.  “He’s pretty good at letting people talk.”

 

“You think,” Bastian muttered darkly, eyes on the floor.  Iolo observed the other man as he levied the bottle cap off his beer, taking in the slumped shoulders, bottom lip bit between very white teeth, bare toes brushing against the ivory grout line between the black tiles.

 

“A year.”  Bastian’s head popped up, and Iolo took a quick swig of beer, getting mostly foamy head.  “This cabin thing is their one-year anniversary shindig.”

 

“A year,” Bastian repeated to himself, eyes narrowing in thought.  “That’s…not so bad.”

 

“Poe will be happy to know you approve,” Iolo joked, and Bastian cracked a smile.

 

“I mean, it’s not like their married, right?”

 

“Not that I know of,” Iolo shrugged.  “But I’d probably would’ve heard about that.  Poe’s a shout-it-from-the-rooftops kind of guy.”

 

“That’s gotta be weird for Finn,” Bastian smirked, and Iolo felt the tension leave his spine in a rush.

 

“It helps that Finn doesn’t have any social media,” Iolo commented with a half-smile.  “He doesn’t get the full experience.”

 

“I thank God every day for keeping Finn off social media,” Bastian admitted, his toothy grin returning, and Iolo felt it was safe to return to their dinner, which was probably cold and disgusting by now.  The redhead started back for the living room, focused on trying to avoid the landmine floorboards and stepping on the first one immediately.  “He doesn’t need more ammunition for lecturing me,” the younger man continued, unaware of Iolo’s frustration as he padded back to the living room without causing a single squeak.

 

“How the fuck--,”

 

“Aw, Gibby, aren’t you a good boy,” Bastian cooed, kneeling beside the large dog, who had his head resting on the coffee table, nose inches away from an abandoned slice of bacon with a dangle of drool hanging over his bottom lip.  “Such a _good_ _boy_.”

 

And Iolo didn’t know why, but a full-fledge smile crept across his face and he didn’t even care that dog drool was one of the grossest things he could imagine.

 

…

 

“Are you checking up on me,” Iolo demanded into his phone while Bastian mumbled ‘Hannibal Hamlin’ under his breath, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

 

“What, I can’t just call my best friend for no reason,” Poe’s voice asked, resounding through Iolo’s phone speaker.

 

“Not when you’re supposed to be on a romantic get-away with your _boyfriend_ ,” Iolo countered pointedly, and Bastian pulled his eyes away from the flat-screen television to look up at the redhead.

 

“For your information, Finn is calling his brother so it’s not like I’m ignoring him for you, you egotistical shit,” Poe drawled unconvincingly. 

 

“Finn’s calling Bastian, huh,” Iolo echoed, elbowing the man next to him on the couch.  Bastian pouted exaggeratedly, pointing at the screen where the first round of _Jeopardy_ was underway.  Iolo shook his head and muted the TV with the remote in his hand and Bastian heaved himself up and off the couch, pulling his cellphone out of his pocket, the screen lit with an incoming call.

 

“Yeah, making sure he’s still alive,” Poe said with a slight grunt.

 

“I thought I was gonna be the one getting those calls,” Iolo joked, crossing his ankles over the corner of the coffee table, Gibraltar’s head resting on crossed paws under his legs.

 

“About that…I’m really sorry.  I didn’t know he was gonna be high-maintenance,” Poe mumbled apologetically.

 

“He’s not,” Iolo retorted quickly, an image of Bastian sitting in silence and coloring in the approved book flashing through his mind.

 

“I know you like your space and all that,” Poe went on, as if he hadn’t heard.  “And Finn talked to him last night, so you won’t be hearing from him unless--,”

 

“John C. Calhoun,” Bastian hollered from behind Iolo, who jerked and nearly dropped his phone.

 

“No one knows vice presidents,” Iolo snapped, the effectiveness lost by the accompanying chortle.

 

“I do,” Bastian replied snootily before bringing his phone back to his ear.  “Obviously Iolo’s here.  Why would I be in his apartment without him?”

 

“Was—was that Finn’s brother,” Poe’s voice asked hesitantly.

 

“No, Gibraltar’s elocution lessons are really paying off,” Iolo responded drily.  The German Shepard lifted his head at the sound of his name, and Iolo bent his left leg to scratch his toes behind the dog’s ear.

 

“Why is Bastian in our apartment,” Poe demanded, and Iolo rolled his eyes, beginning to flick through the channels as _Jeopardy_ went to a commercial break.

 

“Well, _someone_ told him he was annoying me, so he came by to apologize,” Iolo said, noting the Red Sox game was delayed due to weather as he went higher.  “He also brought me a mushroom burger.  Why don’t you ever apologize to me with food, Dameron?”

 

“I’m so confused right now,” Poe muttered, and Iolo snorted, making it to TLC and starting back down the channels.  “Like, what the fuck, dude?”

 

“He’s bored,” Iolo stated, not sure why he felt the need to defend himself…or Bastian, for that matter.  “He’s in a city he doesn’t know, and he’s too young to go to a bar and he’s way too young-looking to sneak into one,” he rattled off, looking around to confirm that Bastian was out of earshot.  The other man was standing by the shelves of DVDs and video games, nodding along to whatever he was hearing on the other end of his phone.  “What else is he going to do in Portland after seven?  Besides, I watch _Jeopardy_ every night anyway.”

 

“Just—you know that I wasn’t asking you to befriend the guy, right?”

 

“You asked me to babysit him, and at this point I feel like you’re babysitting me,” the redhead rolled his eyes.  “ _Jeopardy_ is back,” he added loudly, nodding at the thumb’s up sent his way.

 

“Ri-ight,” Poe drew out.  “I’ll just let you get back to it, huh?”

 

“Sounds like a plan,” Iolo agreed, deciding to ignore that sarcasm dripping from his roommate’s words.  “Go have sex with your boyfriend or whatever.”

 

“Ew,” Bastian squealed, covering his ears comically, and the redhead scoffed.

 

“You’re a brat,” he informed the other man, who settled down on the opposite end of the couch, bending his legs under him, while Iolo ended the call without remorse.

 

“Hey, if you want to talk about sex, we can talk about sex,” Bastian said definitively, and Iolo laughed, unmuting the TV in time to hear a middle-aged man tell Alex Trebek that he liked to knit sweaters for kittens.  “Just not my brother having sex.  Because Finn doesn’t have sex.  Ever.  He has no sex drive or sex organs or--,”

 

“Got it,” Iolo interrupted before he was forced to think about anyone’s sex organs.  “Finn’s neutered.  Poor guy.”

 

“Tragic, but he bears it well,” Bastian agreed, somewhat majestically, and Iolo just smiled and shook his head.  “Finn says I have to go to Freeport tomorrow.”

 

“Sucks to be you,” Iolo commented, laughing as Bastian’s leg shot out and kicked him in the upper thigh.  “Why,” he added, because it was polite, not because he cared.

 

“ _Finn says_ ,” Bastian began, in tone that made it clear that the younger man had started many, many sentences with those two words in his lifetime, “they do a bunch of stuff for the Fourth there.  Stuff that doesn’t require drinking.”

 

“Uh, okay,” Iolo allowed, not quite sure what the day of the month had to do with anything.

 

“Do you want to come with,” Bastian asked guilelessly, and Iolo couldn’t spit out “no” fast enough.

 

“I have work,” Iolo went on, to seal the deal.

 

“Really?  Even on the Fourth of July,” Bastian pressed, tilting his head to the side.

 

Fuck.  No, he didn’t have to work on federal holidays.  Instead, Iolo said, “Fuck off.”

 

Unfortunately, that was all the encouragement Bastian needed.  “Come on, it’ll be fun,” he wheedled.  “There’s some bus we can take, and there’s a clam bake or something and face painting, which will definitely happen—I wanna look like a unicorn--,”

 

“John Adams,” Iolo shouted, fist pumping in triumph, and Bastian whipped his head around to the television.

 

“No fair!  I wasn’t listening!”

 

_Wednesday, July 4 th_

 

“You tell no one about this,” Iolo threatened lowly, trying valiantly not to crack when Bastian’s face turned up to his, a large pink heart painted across his left cheek.

 

“If you’re worried about your reputation,” Bastian said, swinging his legs over the edge of the dock, “I don’t think you really have one.”

 

Iolo scowled, eyes narrowing into a glare.  “I do.  I’m the no-nonsense, grumpy, realistic one.”

 

“So you’re basically Eeyore,” Bastian sassed.

 

“Yeah, and I don’t need Pooh and Tigger knowing I spent a day with Piglet,” Iolo said flatly, leaning his weight against one of the wooden supports.

 

“I’m totally Piglet,” the younger man nodded with satisfaction, looking out at the bay, where the sunlight was reflecting with a warm, piercing glare.  “You wanna sit down?”

 

“I’m good,” Iolo replied, checking the time on his Fitbit.  The two of them had been in Freeport for three hours and Bastian had already managed to circumnavigate the world’s largest L. L. Bean at a speed that would have been terrifying if it didn’t mean Iolo got to escape the giant brown boot and the hundreds of racks of olive green pants, commandeered a face painter who had took his sweet time painting the heart (not that Iolo cared who flirted with who, but he looked like a moron standing there witnessing it), and consumed a tangle of funnel cake bigger than his head.  When Bastian had asked to find somewhere to sit for a little, Iolo was pretty sure people in Connecticut heard his sigh of relief.

 

“You sure?  Because you were walking a little wonky there,” Bastian mentioned, squinting up at the standing man.

 

The redhead swallowed.  “I’m fine.  It’s nothing.”

 

“Okay,” the younger man shrugged, tucking his left leg to his chest and resting his paint-free cheek against his knee.  “Um, maybe…could you come down here anyway?”

 

“Are you going to push me in,” Iolo asked neutrally. 

 

“Probably not.  I have a confession.”

 

“Save it for a priest,” Iolo said as he used the post to slowly lower himself down to the wooden panels of the dock.  His right knee pulled uncomfortably, the twinge running all the way up his side, but he kept his face expressionless with practiced ease.  “What do you want?”

 

Bastian shot a decidedly nervous look at the redhead, and Iolo frowned questioningly back.  “I’m kind of an idiot,” he whispered.

 

Iolo cocked an eyebrow and leaned towards the younger man.  “I know,” he replied simply, and Bastian smiled half-heartedly, shaking his head. 

 

“I don’t feel good.”

 

“Well, you were the moron who gobbled all that funnel cake,” Iolo commented, pitilessly.  “If you’re gonna vomit, do it down wind.  I don’t want to smell that.” 

 

“I need iron.”

 

Iolo closed his eyes for a beat and then opened them wide.  “Run that by me again.”

 

“I was an idiot and now I don’t feel good and I need iron,” Bastian categorized in a rush, and Iolo noticed the younger man was beginning to list.

 

“What kind of not good,” Iolo inquired, eyes narrowing.

 

“I think I might pass out,” Bastian breathed and, moving faster than he had in years, Iolo lunged at the younger man, grabbing Bastian under his armpits and flinging him backwards onto the worn planks.

 

“Fuck, how ‘bout not sitting on the edge of a fucking dock when you think you’re gonna pass out?!”

 

“I didn’t mean right this second,” Bastian mumbled, lying on his back, his arms flung wide to the side.  A family in star-spangled outfits wandered around him, casting the prone man concerned glances.  “Hi, happy Fourth of July,” he chimed to the two little girls clutching Barbie dolls.

 

“Christ,” Iolo groaned, kneading his knuckles against his temples.  “I think I hate you.”

 

“Don’t be like that, baby,” Bastian drawled teasingly.  Iolo’s jaw dropped loose, white noise filling his ears, but before he could formulate anything close to a response, the younger man said, “I really need iron.”

 

“Yeah, you’re gonna have to explain that one to me later,” Iolo grumbled, thankful to have something to focus on.  People fainting was something he could handle.  “Can you stand up?  No, of course you can’t,” he muttered to himself, shifting.  Standing was going to be a three-step process today he decided with an internal sigh.  Leaving Bastian to his sprawled musings, the redhead planted his hands on either side of him, leaning all his weight onto his palms as he struggled to fold his legs under him.  Iolo tried to ignore the concerned observation of which he was the subject as he rolled himself into a squat, balancing on the balls of his feet.  Finally, he reached back for the post, using its support to pull himself upright.  “Right, your turn,” Iolo ground out between his teeth.

 

“Uh, yeah, I can do that part myself,” Bastian assured quickly, which Iolo was both thankful for and didn’t appreciate at all, spotting the younger man as he gets to his feet all the same.  As soon as he was vertical, Bastian began to show ever sign of going horizontal again and Iolo had his arm around the other man’s waist, tugging him until their sides were pressed together.  “See?  No problem.”

 

“Yeah-huh,” Iolo humored the twenty-year-and-six-day old man unconvincingly, turning with Bastian tucked against him.  “We’re gonna get you back to Finn’s and you’re going to give me a head’s up if you’re about to lose consciousness, got it?”

 

“Just need to lie down for a bit,” Bastian grumbled as he let the older man direct him down the dock, Iolo calculating the shortest distance to the bus stop back to Portland.  “And iron.”

 

“Okay, Tony Stark,” the redhead huffed, trying not to think about how the warmth radiating into his body from Bastian’s wasn’t uncomfortable.  “What’s all this shit about needing iron?  Is this some street word for a drug I don’t know about?”

 

“No, it’s, like, an element.”

 

“Oh, wow, thank you, Professor Bastian,” Iolo snapped drily, and Bastian giggled into the redhead’s shoulder.  “Where would I be without you?”

 

“In your apartment, forgetting it’s fireworks day,” Bastian retorted, although his voice didn’t sound quite as loud and strong as before.

 

“And happy about it,” Iolo said with a firm nod.

 

“Liar,” Bastian exhaled against the redhead’s neck, and Iolo decided not to dignify that with a response as he focused on dodging around families and stray children on the crowded sidewalks.  Why Finn thought sending his brother here was a good idea—and demanding photographic proof—was beyond him.  Especially if he knew anything about this iron shit…oh.  Well, that was an option.

 

Bastian’s feet slapped unsteadily against the cement as Iolo briefly pulled away in order to fish his phone out of his pocket.  Bastian hummed in question, but the redhead just shook his head and used his free hand to bring the younger man against his side again.

 

“Focus on not falling over,” Iolo ordered idly, looking between his screen and the street as he unlocked his phone and scrolled through his contacts. 

 

“I dunno, that ground is looking pretty good right now,” Bastian mumbled, tilting forward and Iolo hauled him back as he reached the ‘F’s and clicked the one and only listing.

 

One ring.  Two.  Three.

 

“Um, happy Fourth, Lo?”

 

“Right back at cha, Finn,” Iolo replied, smacking his hand against Bastian’s stomach as the younger man groaned loudly.  “What can you tell me about iron?”

 

“Atomic number 26, fourth most common element in the earth’s crust, symbol Fe--,”

 

“Yeah, great, thanks,” Iolo rolled his eyes.  He was starting to see the family resemblance.  “What can you tell me about your brother and iron?”

 

There was moment’s pause and then, “Fucking hell, where is he?”

 

“He’s in Freeport,” Iolo said, sharing a quick smile with Bastian, whose own grin looked a little wane, “like you told him.”

 

“Fuck,” Finn groaned.  “Did he—are you going to get him?  When was the last time you heard from him?”

 

“Um, recently,” Iolo answered unhelpfully; Bastian’s accompanying snort was muffled into Iolo’s t-shirt.  “So, iron?  Something I need to be concerned about?”

 

“He’s got fucking anemia,” came Finn’s pained response. 

 

Iolo missed a step and nearly took him and Bastian to the ground if the younger man hadn’t grabbed hold of a streetlight.  Bastian shot him a bemused look, but Iolo shook his head, eyes wide with confusion.  He pressed his phone to his chest and stated calmly, “Your brother is fucking with me.”

 

“You sure,” Bastian asked, squinting.  “That doesn’t sound like Finn.”

 

Well, the nearly unconscious man had a point there.  Propping Bastian against the lamppost, Iolo pointed his finger at the younger man and said firmly, “Stay here.”

 

“Yeah yeah yeah,” Bastian babbled, hugging the hot metal, his cheek smushed against it and his eyes drooping shut.  “Me and Posty here?  BFFs forever.”

 

“Great,” Iolo mumbled, hoping the alarm he was feeling didn’t leak too much into his tone as he took a few blind steps backwards, not caring about the people who had to move to avoid him as he kept his eyes on the other man, slumped entirely against the post.  Bringing his phone back to his ear, the redhead said, “Okay, let’s say I believe you about the amnesia—what the hell that does that have to do with iron?!”

 

“What—no, you absolute moron,” Finn hissed.  “Poe, why are you friends with _absolute morons_?”  

 

“Don’t drag me into this,” came Poe’s faint reply, and Iolo rolled his eyes.

 

“I didn’t say _amnesia_ ,” Finn drawled, sounding a little too much like Hermione Granger and Iolo was thrown out of his irritation, “I _said_ anemia.”

 

Iolo blinked.  “What’s the difference?”

 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Finn snapped drily.  “How about the difference between memory loss and red blood cells?”

 

Unhelpfully, the white noise had returned to Iolo’s ears, his mind racing too many directions to land on one.  What about red blood cells, was Bastian dying, had he been left in charge of a dead man walking without any kind of warning, did he need to be getting their asses to a hospital because blood problems didn’t sound like minor—

 

And then his eyes landed on Bastian, who had slid down the length of the pole and was now sitting on the curb, his legs bent to his chest and his forehead resting in the crevice between his knees, arms still hugging the lamppost, and the buzzing faded to a manageable level.

 

“Okay, I’ve got eyes on your brother,” he said far more calmly than he felt.  “If you have anything useful, text it to me.”  And then he was ending the call, cutting in front of a fast-moving thirty-something couple with a toy poodle remorselessly, and standing beside the younger hunched man.  Iolo pressed his left leg against Bastian’s side, and the seated man let out a tired, soft grunt.  “Anemia.”

 

Bastian’s shoulders hitched up a fraction before drooping again.  “That’s me,” he admitted, voice barely audible over the festivities happening around but separate from them.

 

The redhead nodded even though the other wasn’t looking at him.  “You’re an idiot,” he commented because he didn’t want to sound like he was worried or anything.  There was nothing to worry about; everything was under control…well, in his hands and probably under control.

 

“Most days, yeah,” Bastian agreed, rolling his head to the side to look up at the standing man.  “How mad?”

 

“Called me a moron,” Iolo shrugged.  “I think he’s just worried.”

 

“I meant you.”

 

Iolo frowned tightly, risking a downward glance at the scrawny, curled man on the curb.  “I know you’re an idiot,” he drawled flatly, attention on his phone again, scrolling through his contacts, “but try not to be a dumbass too.”

 

…

 

“So-o,” drew out Rey from the driver’s seat, her eyes sharp and left brow raised in the rearview mirror, “how long has this been going on?”

 

Iolo wanted to ignore her, but he didn’t have a lot of options to direct his focus.  He didn’t want to look out the window and acknowledge the little kid in the car next to them making faces and he didn’t want to admit to the head currently resting in his lap.  Besides, Rey did drop whatever she was doing with her day off to pick them up and anyway, that sounded like a question he should be prepared to answer on the off-chance that they ended up at a hospital, despite all of Bastian’s claims that he just needed to lie down.

 

“Uh, about twenty, thirty minutes,” Iolo estimated, and he saw Rey’s right eyebrow shoot up her forehead to join her left.  Feeling a bit affronted at the skepticism radiating off their reluctant driver, the redhead jiggled his right knee a little and Bastian hummed in reply.  “How long have you been feeling like crap?”

 

“Most of my life, give or take,” came Bastian’s answer, and Iolo didn’t even try to keep his chuckle to himself.

 

“Super helpful, thanks,” Iolo commented drily, flicking the younger man’s exposed ear and then repeating the motion at the younger man’s dramatic whine.

 

“I-I meant, how long have you been dating,” Rey mentioned, still watching the pair in her backseat even as the light changed and she released the brake.

 

“ _What_ ,” Iolo exploded, pushing himself up straight and nearly kneeing Bastian in the face with the movement.  “I’m not dating _this_!”

 

“Ouch, hey, hey,” Bastian soothed, rolling onto his back, his knees bent to the ceiling to fit in the small backseat of Rey’s 1960 Mark 1 Mini.  “Emotions, _feelings_ ,” he emphasized teasingly, clutching a hand to his heart and fisting theatrically at his t-shirt patterned with small green and yellow pineapples.

 

Iolo looked down blandly at the face that staring up at him, smiling too widely.  “I don’t know anything about that.  I’m a robot.”

 

“Robots don’t need a tub of sunscreen for a day outside.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“Wait, did I just win that,” Bastian asked, pushing himself up by his elbows, and Iolo planted a hand to the center of the younger man’s chest and pressed him back down.  “I totally won that,” he decided smugly, staring up at the roof.

 

“Shut up,” Iolo repeated without any real heat, leaving his hand where it was since he didn’t have anywhere better to put it.

 

“Uh-huh.  Okay.  Sure,” Rey said, judgmentally in Iolo’s opinion.  “Definitely not dating.”

 

“This is Finn’s little brother,” Iolo ground out, hoping one of those descriptors would get Rey off his case because Bastian was looking too amused at everything happening around him.

 

“What?  When did Finn get a brother,” Rey asked, successfully distracted, but at the way Bastian’s face instantly fell, Iolo almost wished he hadn’t said anything.

 

“About twenty years ago,” Bastian supplied, frowning.  “Didn’t—he’s talked about me, right?”

 

“Yeah,” Iolo interjected sharply before Rey could contribute anything further.  “Rey just—never listens.  Right, Rey?”

 

“Yeah, that’s it,” Rey agreed easily, eyes on the road.  “You know me, never listen to any of you weirdos.”

 

Iolo sighed because that wasn’t even mildly convincing, and he didn’t have to look down to know the younger man was directing a searching gaze up at him.  “What about you?  You knew about me, right?”

 

“Course.  I wouldn’t’ve rescued you from the dog groomer gestapo if I didn’t know about you… You think I just go around doing that shit for anyone,” Iolo asked, lying through his teeth without guilt.  He risked a quick glance down to see a hesitant smile return.

 

“I knew I was special,” Bastian said, probably joking, but Iolo didn’t have it in him for a biting retort and let it slide.  Instead, he directed his attention to his phone which had been vibrating in his left hand since they’d gotten into the car.

 

“Finn’s freaking out,” he stated, reading through the short, choppy string of text messages which didn’t appear to have any coherent order or rank of importance.

 

“About what,” came Rey’s innocuous inquiry from the front, pitched over Bastian’s long-suffering moan.

 

“Bastian’s anemia,” Iolo answered mindlessly, opening the link in the latest message and holding the screen in front of Bastian’s nose.  “Are these the supplements you’re supposed to be taking but apparently have abandoned at the risk to your life?”  

 

“Oh shit,” Rey muttered to herself, and Iolo was planning to reply to that when he felt icy fingers wrap around his wrist and adjust it.

 

“Christ on a cracker,” the redhead yelped, jerking his hand away in shock.  “Why do your hands feel like I just dragged you out of a freezer?!”

 

“Why did you put me in a freezer,” Bastian asked as if that was a suitable question.

 

“Because you asked too many stupid questions,” Iolo retorted mercilessly, glowering down at the man who had managed to claim all of the redhead’s right thigh as his own.

 

“Seems reasonable.  Almost likely,” Bastian allowed, pulling at the hem of his shirt.  “But yeah, those are the pills I take.  Kinda weird that Finn remembers that after two years…”

 

“Hey, uh, Bastian,” Rey began, clicking on her turn signal and Iolo noticed the blue and white Walgreen’s sign as they were steered into the parking lot, “how long has it been since you’ve taken your iron pills?”

 

Iolo blinked, taken aback that anyone knew what anemia was, and Bastian sucked in his bottom lip.  If the redhead didn’t know any better, he’d say the younger man looked almost shy.

 

“I forgot to pack them…and maybe a couple days before I flew out…because I was really busy…”

 

Rey hummed and parked.  “Alright, here’s the deal: I’m going to leave the windows open, Bastian is going to stay here, and Lo, you’re coming with me.”

 

“Am I grounded,” Bastian whispered as Rey climbed out of her car.

 

“Just wait til I get you home, mister,” Iolo found himself threatening with a smile because the younger man actually looked a little nervous.  Bastian cracked a smile and lifted his head to release the redhead’s leg.  Iolo popped open his door, saw Rey standing in the next parking space with her arms crossed, and glanced back at the Bastian, curling himself into a tight ball.  “She just wants to grill me on our illicit love affair.”

 

Bastian burst out laughing and, feeling vindicated, Iolo slid out of the car and closed the door with a firm thud.

 

“You’ve got some serious explaining to do,” Rey announced, turning and falling into step next to Iolo as he marched for the sliding glass doors of the drugstore, matching his wide strides impressively.

 

“Finn has a brother, he’s in your car, he has anemia, you’re all caught up,” Iolo listed off in a monotone, shivering at the blast of air conditioning that hit him as they entered the florescent-lit store.

 

“Uh, not good enough, Arana,” Rey disagreed quickly, taking off as if she knew the way and Iolo followed without much thought.  “Why did it feel like I was driving Lucy and Ricky back there?”

 

“I’m not a shrink; I don’t know why you’re going crazy,” Iolo retorted, shoving his hands deep into his pockets, halting in front of the shelves of green, yellow, and clear plastic bottles of vitamins and supplements.  Instantly, Iolo squinted, noticed the items were in alphabetical order, and scowled.  Rey, with a sympathetic pat on his arm, squatted down to where ‘I’ began.  “It has a green lid.  200 milligrams.”

 

“Okay, I’ll find it.  Is there anything else we should pick up,” Rey asked, grabbing a bottle in each hand, reading the small print.

 

“Finn says,” Iolo began and then broke off, remembering how Bastian always managed to draw out those two words for maximum exasperation.  He didn’t realize he was smiling silently at a display of prenatal vitamins until Rey elbowed his calf.  Blinking, refocusing, the redhead swallowed and then coughed.  “Uh, orange juice.  I’ll go—grab some.”

 

“You do that,” Rey replied, her voice trembling slightly, and Iolo decided not to think about it as he craned his neck around at the hanging signs, looking for the drinks.  “So, I guess we shouldn’t expect you tonight?”

 

“Expect me where,” Iolo asked, spotting the wall of refrigeration beyond the small wine section, four rows over.

 

“Snap’s party.  We sent you, like, twenty messages about it.  Poe said he told you.”

 

“Yeah, he probably did,” Iolo shrugged, wondering if he should pick up some food while he was here, save himself a trip later…  “Uh, I don’t know.  Maybe I’ll stop by.”

 

“You could bring Bastian,” she suggested casually, replacing the bottle in her left hand and picking up another, comparing it to the one in her right.

 

“Yeah, probably not,” Iolo shook his head.  “Meet you at check-out.”

 

…

 

“What’s with all the bags?”

 

“Did you take the damn pill yet,” Iolo asked instead of answering, side-stepping the curious, sniffing Gibraltar on his way to Finn’s kitchen, the handles of two loaded plastic bags in each of his hands.

 

“It tastes like lard,” came Bastian’s moody reply, and Iolo snorted, hefting the groceries onto the counter next to the fridge and turning back to observe where the younger man was sprawled across the gunmetal gray sectional, just like he had been when Iolo had deposited him after the piggyback ride from the curb to the apartment.  The painted pink heart was smeared across his cheek, and the redhead moved towards the sink.

 

“Well, wash it down with the juice,” Iolo suggested blandly, rolling out three sections of quilted paper towels and ripping them off the roll, turning on the faucet with his wrist.

 

“Then it tastes like lard and oranges,” Bastian grumbled darkly.  Iolo held his hand under to flow of water, waiting for it to get warm, and stared at the twenty-year-and-six-day-old man unimpressed.  Bastian looked right back for a moment before his gaze drooped and he shoved the small white pill into his mouth, following it quickly with a rushed gulp of orange juice from the small bottle in his hand.  “Happy?”

 

“Ecstatic,” the redheaded man intoned, and Bastian’s lips twisted up before he took another sip of juice.  Iolo’s bowed his head, looking away from the younger man’s relaxed form and dampened the folded rectangle of paper towels under the warm water.  He flipped the faucet off, squeezed the excess water down the drain, and moved out of the kitchen, crossing the distressed dark wood floor on his way to the living room area.  Bastian had rearranged himself slightly, his shoes kicked off and his legs up on the short serif of the L-shaped couch, crossed at the ankles.  Wordlessly, Iolo held out the paper towels, and Bastian accepted the lump with a small smile.

 

“Thanks,” he said, setting to work on his cheek with small circles, the pink paint blurring and dripping towards his chin.  Automatically, Iolo reached out and caught a drop of pink with his thumb before it had a chance to dribble down Bastian’s neck.  “Sorry I’m a pain in the ass.”

 

“I didn’t want to go to Freeport anyway,” Iolo replied with a one-shoulder shrug.

 

“Yeah, sorry I made you,” Bastian mumbled, looking down at the pink-stained soggy towels, the shape gone but the color remained swirled across his dark skin.  It was a little sad-looking, and Iolo couldn’t look away.

 

“You done apologizing for random shit?  Give me that,” he ordered, pulling the messy towels out of Bastian’s lax grip and sitting down at the younger man’s hip, attention completely on removing the last of the paint.  He used his free hand to grip Bastian’s chin and turn the other man’s face to make the job easier.

 

“You don’t have to do this,” Bastian whispered, his breath puffing against Iolo’s hand holding his jaw.  Iolo didn’t twitch away.

 

“It was bothering me.”

 

“I meant, you don’t have to do any of this.  Like, put up with me.”

 

Iolo paused, eyes flicking to meet Bastian’s before the younger man’s gaze shifted to his left, lips sneaking between his teeth.  “Is that you talking or someone else,” the redhead asked, his voice unusually tranquil, even to his own ears.  He watched as Bastian twitched, following the flick of the younger man’s eyes to the tie-dye-cased cellphone innocently lying on the floor next to the open bottle of juice.  “Finn doesn’t really know me.”

 

“He sounds like he does,” Bastian commented, accepting the renewed efforts to remove the last of the stubborn face paint from the crevice of his cheekbone, even leaning into Iolo’s motions, which Iolo tried not to smile about.

 

“He doesn’t.  We don’t hang out or anything, unless Poe’s there.  All he knows is that I’m weird and don’t go out much,” Iolo itemized firmly, dashing away the final of the watered-down paint with the side of his hand and getting to his feet.  “And he’s right, but I’m kinda vain and think I’ve got a bit more to me than that.”

 

“You do,” Bastian agreed quickly, and Iolo shook his head as he pivoted on his heel and crossed back to the kitchen.  “But…if you wanted to go do your own thing, you totally could now.  Like, I’m just gonna hole up in here and watch Netflix.  Take Gibby out for a walk when my head’s less cottony…”

 

“Besides the dog-walking part, that sounds like my plan too,” Iolo said, opening bottom cabinets and drawers until he found the trashcan and threw the now-clammy, gloopy mess of paper in and then rubbed his palms against his jeans.  “Except I’d add pizza.”

 

“Pizza sounds _so_ good,” Bastian marveled, as if he’d never really thought about pizza before, and Iolo let himself grin because Bastian didn’t seem to care and Gibraltar didn’t seem to know what was going on as he climbed onto the couch at the younger man’s feet.

 

“Guess that settles it,” Iolo nodded, pulling out two boxes of frozen pizzas from the bags he’d temporarily forgotten.  “I’ll take Gibraltar out later.  I’m not dealing with you passing out on the Eastern Promenade.”

 

There was a moment’s silence and Iolo distracted himself by reading the cooking instructions, as if he didn’t know them by heart, as if he hadn’t been buying the exact same vegetarian Margherita pizza for the past two years.

 

“Okay, but you’re picking what we’re watching.”

 

“Damn right I am,” the redhead said with a nod, setting the oven to preheat with his thumb.

 

“It’s kind of sucks we’re gonna miss the fireworks though,” Bastian considered, mostly to himself as he turned on the television, juggling between remotes until he got to the Netflix home screen.  “I like fireworks.”

 

“We can watch them, if you want,” Iolo mentioned, distracted at he looked for a baking tray in Finn’s collection of pots and pans and lids.

 

“They’re not the same on TV.  But,” Bastian went out, bright and bracing, “we can do dopey voice-over shit, you know—like about how they used a gazillion tons of gun powder and imported it special from Lichtenstein or--,”

 

“I meant we can go up to the roof,” Iolo interrupted, rolling his eyes as he found the baking sheets hiding on top of the fridge.  “You can see the bay from there.  That’s where they set off the fireworks.”

 

“Will you carry me to the roof for fireworks, Iolo Arana?”

 

Iolo froze, not exactly sure how he was meant to take that.  It still sounded teasing and easy, but not quite as harmless as before.  But when he looked over his shoulder Bastian was smirking widely, and Iolo chuckled, his lips curling into a half-smile.

 

“Sure, your highness.  Should I polish your shoes while I’m at it?”

 

_Thursday, July 5 th_

 

The only thing saving Iolo was the thought that he’d never have to explain to anyone his actions of the past twenty-four hours.

 

He’d never have to explain watching about twenty episodes of _Friends_ while Bastian alternated between laughing and offering colored commentary and dozing with a forgotten slice of pizza in his hand that Gibraltar eyed hopefully.

 

He’d never have to explain that when he’d taken not-his-dog for an evening walk he had stopped at his apartment to pack an overnight bag and his work tablet and sketchbook.

 

He’d never have to explain the piggyback ride up two flights of stairs, his knees objecting to every step, with Bastian laughing brightly in his ear, clinging to his shoulders like a koala.  Or how the younger man had leaned bodily against his chest, watching with wide, awed eyes as the bright colors exploded and cascaded above them, Iolo’s arm around his waist for support.

 

He’d never have to explain sleeping on Finn’s sectional, finally drifting off to the sounds of Bastian’s sniffling inhales through the open bedroom door and Gibraltar’s panting as the German Shepard laid on the floor, head inches away from the redhead’s, scrutinizing him—which Bastian had said was crazy, but Iolo knew when he was being judged.

 

And he’d never, ever have to explain the dumb, pointless, soft smile that stretched his face in the morning as Bastian insisted on making smoothies with the fruit Iolo had bought the day before, waving off Iolo’s offers to help because Bastian knew what he was doing, he was a _professional_ , people _paid_ him to make smoothies—because he worked part-time at some juice bar near his campus.

 

Maybe he hadn’t started his work until nearly ten, but Iolo was full of pureed strawberries and bananas, with a second glassful next to him on Finn’s kitchen table for later, and the younger man had taken his iron pill and was curled up on the sofa behind him with his laptop, a new bottle of orange juice, and a giant dog.  Iolo had put in his earbuds, turned on his work playlist, and settled down for a day of 3D drafting with Bastian’s promise that he wouldn’t bother the redhead unless he was sick, dying, or about to be maimed.

 

So, when Iolo heard Bastian’s raised voice indistinctly over the orchestration of _Final Fantasy VIII_ , he exhaled heavily through his nose, pulled out his left earbud, but didn’t look up as he asked, “What do you want?”

 

“ _Finn says_ \--,”

 

“Finn,” Iolo drawled back, adding a few thin, short strokes to the character’s bushy eyebrows on his tablet, “can kiss my ass.”

 

“Oh, can I now,” retorted a different, baffled-sounding voice, and Iolo put down his stylus and carefully removed his right earbud.

 

“You’re back early,” the redhead commented neutrally, twisting around on the chrome and red pleather barstool to look over the two men standing just inside the apartment, their luggage at their feet which Gibraltar was inspecting.

 

“You’re in my apartment,” Finn stated, blinking, while Poe did a gape-mouth impression of a goldfish, eyes darting between Iolo and Bastian, who was sitting up and scowling.

 

Iolo nodded slowly.  “Well, that’s two for two with the obvious statements.  Bastian, you’re up.”

 

“I—is that your boyfriend,” Bastian asked with a hint of hesitant skepticism.

 

“Not exactly a statement, but close enough,” Iolo joked, and Bastian shot him a quick flash of a toothy smile before pushing himself out of his nest of pillows and getting unsteadily to his feet. 

 

Iolo also stood, eyes trained on Bastian because he had a pretty good idea what was about to happen.  Right on cue, the younger man swayed, knees buckling dangerously, and the redhead sprung across the open space, grabbing Bastian’s flailing right hand in his left while his right arm wrapped around Bastian’s waist.  Bastian’s falling momentum almost took them to the floor, but Iolo planted his feet, shifting his weight to his right leg, and braced.  There was a second where Iolo just held his breath, prepared for impact, but he managed to stay upright, and he looked down at Bastian’s shocked face with his own disbelieving expression.

 

“Whoa,” Bastian breathed, eyes blown wide.

 

Iolo exhaled through his nose in a rush, scanning the younger man’s upturned face as Bastian’s left hand curled around the collar of Iolo’s gray t-shirt.  “That,” the redhead said, “was the smoothest move of my life…and I wasted it on _you_.”

 

Instantly Bastian’s head fell back as he cackled loudly, eyes squeezing shut, and Iolo snorted in amusement.  He tugged Bastian upright and quickly pushed the younger man back into the pillows, Bastian folding easily without protest.  Smirking, Bastian fanned his face dramatically.  “Iolo Arana, I think I’m gonna swoon,” he twittered, and Iolo rolled his eyes.  Patting his stomach, the younger man went on, “I _think_ —yeah, I think I’m pregnant now.”

 

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Iolo shot back, hands on his hips.  “That was fucking incredible—oof,” he huffed as Gibraltar galloped over and heaved himself onto his hindlegs, his forepaws smacking into Iolo’s clavicles, tongue lolling.  “What, don’t tell me I got you pregnant too, pup.”

 

“You’re a menace,” Bastian teased merrily, and Iolo chuckled, scratching the German Shepard behind the ears.

 

“I should come with a warning, like cigarettes.”

 

“Um, hi?  Still here,” Poe announced, waving his hand slightly.

 

“Sorry, but between Bastian’s kid and this litter of puppies I’m all out of child support,” Iolo drawled, cocking a brow at his roommate, whose jaw dropped again while Finn stood with hands on his head in utter bemusement.

 

“Kid?  I think you mean triplets,” Bastian chimed with a beatific simper.

 

“Triplets?  You never told me you at risk for triplets,” Iolo accused with a wink.  “I would’ve pulled out if I knew that.”

 

“What the fuck is happening,” Finn demanded shrilly, and Iolo realized that maybe the whole scenario was only funny for him and Bastian. 

 

Clearing his throat self-consciously, the redhead eased Gibraltar’s paws off his chest and took a step back.  “What are you doing back,” he asked stiltedly.

 

“Why, am I interrupting something,” Finn asked, his voice still pitched in alarm, and Iolo took another step back, holding up his palms in surrender.

 

“Shut up, Finn, don’t be stupid,” Bastian huffed, crossing his arms.  “We’re kidding.”

 

“I thought you were sick,” Finn snapped, shifting his narrow-eyed glare to his brother, who pursed his lips and picked at the corner of a pillow squished under his arm.

 

“I mean, I’m okay.  Better.”

 

“We drove five hours,” Finn enunciated slowly, “because Iolo said you were fainting in Freeport.”

 

“Fainting in Freeport,” Bastian repeated with a thoughtful look.  “That sounds like a song.”

 

“Everything sounds like a song to you,” Iolo mentioned mindlessly, catching the incredulous look Poe turned on him.

 

“I happen to be a musical soul, trapped in tone-deaf body,” Bastian stated matter-of-factly.

 

“Sounds about right,” Iolo agreed, moving back to the kitchen table, flicking his sketchpad closed and saving his work.

 

“Bas, focus on me for a minute, okay,” Finn asked with a forced calm, and Iolo hid his grimace as he watched his tablet power down and shut off, screen fading to black.  “Are you or are you not sick?  Because I was kind of in the middle of something when I dropped everything to come back here.”

 

“I don’t need to know that,” Bastian responded, Iolo glancing over his shoulder in time to see the younger man’s accompanying scowl.

 

“He’s fronting,” the redhead supplied, tucking his tablet and pad into his olive-green canvas messenger bag before slinging it across his back.  “He’s been complaining about dizziness and headaches.  He’s better than yesterday, and if he takes it easy and keeps taking his goddamn iron, he’ll probably live.”

 

“Who died and made you an expert,” Bastian sassed, and Iolo stuck out his tongue in reply, walking over the bathroom, where he had left his duffle bag.  So what if he had spent three _Friends_ episodes reading every article on anemia he could find on Google.

 

“Really?  That bad,” Finn asked, annoyance melting seamlessly to worry, and Iolo felt a stab of dark satisfaction as he picked up his bag.  “Bas, was it the travel?  Do we need to go back to the doctor, get some more tests?”

 

“What?  No, it’s—I just forgot to—wait, Iolo, where are you going,” Bastian inquired, sitting up and tilting his head.

 

“Home,” Iolo answered, moving towards the apartment door, elbowing Poe as he passed.

 

“But—you could stay,” Bastian pointed out, and Iolo breathed through the uncomfortable twinge in his chest.

 

“Your brother will take it from here, right, Finn,” the redhead asked leadingly.

 

Finn sighed and nodded, striding further into the apartment, leaving Poe and Iolo standing shoulder to shoulder on the welcome mat.  “Yeah, I’ve got this.  We’re good,” he assured, bending down to pick up the empty glass from the floor next to the arm of the sectional, pausing to ruffle Bastian’s loose curls as he straightened.

 

“But--,”

 

“You’ve got my number,” Iolo reminded, ignoring the twin judgmental looks trained on him in favor of sending a soft smile at the man curled into the corner of the couch.

 

Bastian’s responding smile looked a bit shaky, but he’s voice was mocking as he said, “For emergencies.”

 

“Right,” Iolo nodded.  “Code Reds.”

 

“Nothing less.”

 

“Bye, Bastian,” Iolo offered, hand on the doorknob.

 

“See you later, Iolo Arana,” Bastian replied, like a vow, and the redhead twisted and pulled the door open, kicking Poe’s ankle and jerking his head for the other man to follow, which he did, wordlessly.

 

“Body snatchers,” Poe declared as soon as the apartment door clicked shut behind them.  Iolo hummed curiously, and Poe went on, “Body snatchers came and replaced you while I was away, right?”

 

“Fuck off,” Iolo grumbled, heading for the stairs.

 

_Friday, July 6 th _

 

“I got lunch.”

 

“Cool,” Iolo mumbled, stretching his arms above his head and rolling his head back, waiting for the snap of vertebrae before dropping his arms to his sides and getting to his feet.  Poe sat in the armchair, a white take-out box balanced on his thighs, watching as the redhead made his way over and lowered himself onto the couch.

 

“Uh, it’s quinoa.  And cranberries,” Poe supplied as Iolo picked up the plastic spork and paper bowl laid out on the coffee table.

 

“Thanks,” Iolo nodded, popping the lid off and banging the handle of the spork against his leg until the prongs broke through the plastic and he ripped it free.  Deciding he didn’t want to spend the third meal in a row with Poe watching his every move, the redhead asked, “How’s your day?”

 

“Um, yeah—it’s cool, good, you know,” Poe babbled, and Iolo sunk back into the sofa cushions, the bowl held to his chest and a sporkful of grains and dried fruit shoved into his mouth.  “Look…um, it’s Friday.”

 

Iolo swallowed, taking his time to run his tongue across the back of his molars.  “Yeah?”

 

“And, since Finn and I are back…we’re going to do Friday Night Dinner.  I called everyone and they’re in.”

 

“Kay,” Iolo acquiesced easily enough, because he had figured that one way or another he was going to be dragged out of the apartment for dinner.  If it wasn’t Poe then it would’ve been…someone else.

 

“Bastian’s going to come,” Poe mentioned, poking at his chickpea and tomato salad, “if he’s feeling up to it.  Finn says they’re going to the doc in the box for some blood tests or something.”

 

Iolo nodded silently because he wasn’t sure if he should acknowledge he already knew that, that Bastian had sent him a photo of the fish tank in the waiting room and a shot of Finn reading an old, wrinkled _Women’s Day_ a little too intently.  “Sounds good,” he allowed.

 

“Um, right,” Poe muttered, eyes trained on his lunch like it might escape without constant vigilance.  “About Bastian…” Poe trailed off and Iolo held his breath, “…does he hate me?”

 

The redhead blinked once.  Twice.  “Huh?”

 

“Just…he blanked me completely yesterday.  And when I brought over coffee this morning he just stared at me and asked me about licorice and peppers.”

 

Iolo snorted, suppressing the urge to smile stupidly.  “You’re dumb,” he commented lightly, fishing out a slice of mandarin orange and flicking it into his mouth.  “He felt like crap yesterday.  What did you say about licorice?”

 

“I said it was okay,” Poe replied with small frown.  “Why, does he ask that a lot?”

 

“Yeah, it’s kinda his opener when he doesn’t know anything about a person and he’s suddenly stuck with him,” Iolo shrugged.  “Don’t stress yourself out.  He didn’t know you existed a week ago.  He’s feeling you out.”

 

“What, he didn’t know _anything_ about me?”

 

“Nope,” Iolo confirmed.  “And don’t lie and say you knew about him because I know Finn never breathed a word about a brother before.”

 

“It’s not like Finn was hiding him,” Poe said defensively, and Iolo sighed and ate some more quinoa.  “We never asked if he had a brother.”

 

“Sure.”

 

“But that’s why I need you on my side tonight,” Poe continued fervently, and Iolo squinted, tilting his head to the left.  “You know, talk me up.  Make me sound less like some rando sleeping with his brother.”

 

“I mean, you kind of are,” Iolo prodded, and his roommate rolled his eyes.

 

“Come on, man, for me?  I’ll keep Finn from eviscerating you for flirting with his baby brother, promise.”

 

“I,” Iolo announced indignantly, sitting up as much as the deep cushions would allow, “am not flirting with Finn’s baby brother.”

 

“Okay, buddy,” Poe smirked.  “Whatever you say.”

 

“I’m _not_.”

 

“Just ‘cause you don’t do it a lot doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten what it looks like.”

 

“Leave me alone and let me eat my lunch.”

 

“Still working through the denial, I see,” Poe teased, looking far too satisfied with himself.

 

“I’m telling Bastian you hate licorice and think peppers are vegetables.”

 

“Wait, so what was the right answer to that one?  They’re fruit, right?  I was trying to remember, like, ninth grade biology but Finn told Bastian to stop picking on me—hey, cut it out!  It’s not that funny, dude!”

 

…

 

“Hey, buttercup.”

 

“Ew,” Finn cringed, wrinkling his nose but tilting his face up for a kiss all the same, and Iolo looked around to share a grimace of disgust but didn’t find the other face he expected.  “He’s on his way.”

 

“What,” Iolo asked, glancing back to see Poe slid into the seat next on Finn’s left, his arm slung around Finn’s shoulders with ease.  For the lack of anything better to do, he took the seat across from his roommate, leaving the other six wooden chairs spaced around two long tables shoved together by the windows of their usual Italian haunt.

 

“Bastian,” Finn explained, looking a bit uncomfortable.  “He’ll be here in a bit.  He was taking a shower when I left.”

 

“Okay,” Iolo nodded, not knowing what response Finn was expecting from him.

 

“How did it go at the doctor’s,” Poe asked gamely, and Iolo stifled his snort into his shoulder.  “What, can’t I worry about the guy?”

 

“You sound like you’re auditioning for the role of stepfather,” Iolo chuckled, rubbing a hand down his face, pulling at the corner of his eyes as he did.  Poe scowled, but Finn shifted a little and Iolo knew from experience that Finn had his hand on his boyfriend’s knee.

 

“The doctor drew some blood.  We’ll get the full results by Monday, but his red blood cell count dipped pretty low.  Nothing new at this point.  He’s just trying to kill me by not taking his iron.”

 

“He forgot,” Iolo said before his mind caught up with his voice.  Finn and Poe looked at him, and the redhead gulped.  “He was picking up extra shifts and got busy.”

 

Finn inclined his head slowly.  “That’s what he said, yeah.”

 

Iolo tried to look innocent but felt he was failing and ducked his head to focus on unwrapping the paper napkin from around the silverware set on the red-and-white plaid placemat in front of his on the table.  He heard Poe clear his throat and prayed for a quick, painless death when general commotion and raised voices behind him had Iolo heaving a sigh of relief and turning in his seat to greet the approaching crowd.

 

“Hey, long time, no see!”

 

“How was the cabin?  Magical?  Enchanting?  Better than your wildest dreams?”

 

“If cabins are their wildest dreams, they’ve gotta get out more.”

 

“Have you been waiting?  We had to park, like, five blocks away.  Stupid tourists.”

 

“Lo, I tried that roasted artichoke recipe and it didn’t taste right?  Are you sure there’s no bacon?”

 

“Rose, hold on,” Rey said, stopping the shorter woman from pulling out the chair next to Iolo while Jess, Snap, and Karé picked their spots, Jess reaching over Finn’s head to fist bump Poe with a grin.  “Scoot down.”

 

“Huh?  What, do I smell bad,” Rose asked, sniffing at her armpit exaggeratedly.  “I swear I showered.  Fucking oil gets everywhere.”

 

“No,” Rey drew out, lifting her eyebrows tellingly which had Iolo frowning in concern.  “Someone _else_ is sitting there.”

 

“No one’s--,” Iolo began but he was drowned out by a collective gasp of awe.

 

“Gotcha,” Rose nodded, winking down at Iolo knowingly before plodding down to take the seat on the other side of Rey, Snap patting her on the shoulder from his spot at the head of the table while training an expectant smirk at the redhead. 

 

“Kill me,” Iolo groaned as Finn blurted out,

 

“Don’t make it a _thing_.”

 

“Good evening, everyone.  My name is Dan, and I’ll be taking care of you tonight,” came a chipper voice to match an equally smiley waiter who appeared behind Poe’s seat and began doling out menus, skipping the empty spot to Iolo’s right and handing the last one to the redhead.  “Can I get you anything to drink to start?”

 

Iolo couldn’t order a beer fast enough, and everyone followed suite while Iolo opened the menu and didn’t listen to the list of specials as he scanned the pasta dishes.

 

“So, is he coming?  Are we meeting him,” Jess asked excitedly, clapping her hands.  Finn’s jaw dropped, but Rey nodded eagerly.

 

“He totally is.  Lo’s checking his phone and everything.”

 

“I’m checking my phone,” Iolo gritted out between clenched teeth, “because Karé keeps texting me.  And no,” he shot at the curly-haired woman, who notched her arm over the back of her seat, looking entirely unconcerned, “I don’t know his favorite color.  Why do you even _care_?”

 

“I like the color of dew on daisy petals,” Bastian declared dreamily, draping himself over the only empty seat left, his elbows sticking out, one nudging Iolo’s arm as he leaned forward.  Iolo glanced over, taking in the pale pink button-up and olive chinos before scanning up the lounging man’s form to where his mass of curls were pulled back, tied into a bundle.

 

“White,” Iolo said blandly.  “You like the color white.”

 

Bastian rolled his eyes and poked a thin, boney finger into Iolo’s forehead before straightening and pulling out the chair.  “You have no poetry in your soul, dude.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Iolo drawled, scooting his chair over to give the younger man room to slip in and draw up to the table.  “And what’s your opinion on freshly decapitated blades of grass?”

 

“Mmm,” Bastian hummed, looking the redhead dead in the eye with a mischievous little simper.  “Delicious.”

 

Iolo rewarded that adequate comeback with a nod and half-smile, and Bastian winked before looking down and rolling up his unbuttoned right cuff, revealing a swatch of bright orange and blue paisley and Iolo tried not to laugh.

 

“Oh.  My.  God.”  Bastian’s head snapped up, eyes wide and blinking, while Iolo shot Jess a threatening glare, who didn’t notice.  “Rey, you totally weren’t lying.”

 

“Told you,” Rey retorted, wobbling her head a little side to side.  “Actually Lucy and Ricky.”

 

“Oh God,” Finn moaned, burying his face in his hands, Poe’s hand coming up to rub the back of his boyfriend’s bent neck.

 

“Hi, Rey,” Bastian beamed, either impervious to embarrassment or completely oblivious.  Either way, Iolo envied him as the younger man shifted in his seat to look at the woman on his right.  “Thanks again, for Wednesday.  I got you something.”

 

“Aw,” Rey cooed, a hand pressed to her heart, giving Iolo a melting look of affection, who frowned back while Bastian fished something out of his pants pocket.  “You didn’t have to do that.  Right, Iolo?”

 

Bastian glanced over at the redhead, who shrugged.  “I’m expecting diamonds,” Iolo said flatly, and Bastian burst out laughing, one hand over his eyes, the other smacking his leg.

 

“He’s adorable,” Karé stage-whispered around Jess to Finn, who peeked between his fingers while Bastian continued to cackle and gasp.  “Where were you keeping him?”

 

“I’m gonna regret this,” Finn muttered darkly, and Poe and Iolo raised an eyebrow at each other.

 

“I—I’ll w-work on the di-diamonds,” Bastian panted, face almost splitting from his huge grin, a glisten of a tear glinting at the corner of the younger man’s right eye, and Iolo curled his hands into fists in his lap to stop from catching it.  “But, here,” he directed to Rey, holding out something flat and red.  “It’s just something stupid I saw on my way here.”

 

“ _My car is prettier than you_ ,” Rey read aloud before tossing an arm around Bastian’s shoulders.  “I love it, but I’m not putting this on my baby.”

 

“Makes sense,” Bastian nodded with a shrug.  “Anyway, did you ever find--,”

 

“Here we are,” Dan the waiter chirped, this time standing between Bastian’ and Rey’s shoulders and beginning to pass out the drinks.  Iolo accepted his cold glass of Shipyard Brewing pale ale and took a sip as Dan trained his wide smile on Bastian.  “And what can I get for you tonight?”

 

“Uh, I don’t,” Bastian began, and Iolo flipped his menu to the last page and shoved it into the younger man’s hands.  “Thanks,” he said, eyes scanning the list of options, tip of his tongue peeked between his lips.  “The blueberry mint soda sounds awesome.”

 

“Can I see some ID,” Dan asked, jotting something on his notepad.  Bastian’s head jerked up as Iolo’s bent to squint at the menu, confused.

 

“I—is it alcoholic,” Bastian asked.

 

“No,” Dan replied slowly, leadingly, and Iolo lifted his eyes and didn’t like the waiter’s upturned lips at all.

 

“There’s a reason he’s not ordering alcohol,” Iolo drawled, his hand twitching in his lap.

 

“Oh.  _Oh_ ,” the waiter repeated, looking flustered, but Iolo didn’t think it was enough.  “Sorry about that, kid.  I’ll bring the soda right over.”

 

“What was that,” Bastian asked the redhead as Dan scurried away.

 

“No idea.  Pick your entrée.”

 

…

 

“And you’re in college, right, Bas?”

 

“Let the guy eat,” Iolo grunted, finagling two pieces of penne onto his fork prongs, not needing to look up to know that the man next to him was trying valiantly to chew quicker and not leave Karé hanging.

 

“Mm-hmm,” the younger man managed before covering his mouth and garbling out, “UC Davis.”

 

“Fascinating,” Rose breathed, cushioning her chin against her fist, and Iolo couldn’t bother to roll his eyes anymore.  Bastian could say he designed firebombs in his spare time and everyone at the damn table would congratulate him.  “Finn, is that where you used to live?  California?”

 

Finn heaved his hundredth deep sigh of the hour and took a long gulp of beer.  “Yep.  California.  For a while.”

 

“We were in New Mexico before that,” Bastian contributed, using his straw to jangle the ice cubes in his short glass.  “Remember that time at White Sands when--,”

 

“No one cares, Bas,” Finn said, stabbing at a meatball in his dish.

 

“But it’s funny—we were--,”

 

“It wasn’t funny, and it’s probably classified,” Finn interrupted lowly, Iolo only catching the words because he was leaning forward for his drink.

 

Poe coughed.  “What are you studying, Bastian,” he asked, his arm back around Finn’s shoulders and an almost unbelievably interested look on his face.

 

Iolo felt a definite pang of sympathy as Bastian shifted in his chair, darting a quick glance at Poe before focusing on prodding his spoon against a lump of gnocchi.  “Environmental science and management.”

 

“And accounting,” Finn added firmly.

 

“It’s a minor,” Bastian supplied, pushing the gnocchi around his plate.  “It doesn’t really count.”

 

“We’re not paying for it not to count,” Finn snapped, and Bastian’s eyes narrowed across the table at his brother.

 

“Finn, you know I can’t be an accountant.  Who’s gonna trust me with their money?”

 

“Bas--,”

 

“No, he’s got a point,” Iolo piped up, chasing an illusive pea around his plate with his fork.  “That’s not a face you hand over your account books to.”

 

Bastian grinned, his bottom lip disappearing under his front teeth.  “You got that right, Iolo Arana.”  Finn looked a little mutinous when the redhead looked his way, and he wasn’t the only one who thought so.  “I’m going to the bathroom,” Bastian announced, sliding his seat back with a high squeal of wood chair legs against tiled floor.

 

“I’ll alert the authorities,” Iolo assured drily, and Bastian reached out and shoved the redhead’s shoulder lightly.

 

“Just for that, you’re not invited.”

 

“Why the hell would I want to be invited,” Iolo asked blankly, ignoring the snickers from the other end of the table.

 

“Because I just un-invited you, duh,” Bastian stated, rolling his eyes.  “That’s how it works.  Haven’t you watched any tween movie ever?”

 

“No, I was born twenty-nine years old.”

 

“Your poor mother,” Bastian teased before turning on his heel and waltzing off towards the kitchens.

 

“Holy crap, I can’t with the cuteness overload, guys,” Jess whined, swirling her Pepsi around her glass as if it were a fine wine.  “No one will ever love me like that.”

 

“You should’ve seen them yesterday,” Poe offered unhelpfully, leaning across his boyfriend and grabbing a thin breadstick from the basket balanced between the two tables.  “There was honest to God swooning.”

 

“He was about to faceplant because he stood up too fast and he’s _diseased_ ,” Iolo defended thoughtlessly.

 

“Hey,” Finn interjected, affronted, landing a kick to Iolo’s shins.  “My brother is not _diseased_.”

 

“Oh, sure, now you give a fuck,” Iolo huffed, massaging his right temple with his fingertips.  “Where was this brotherly affection five seconds ago when you were picking a fight in a fucking restaurant?”

 

“I wasn’t picking a fight—I was just saying--,”

 

“You could save the career advice for later, maybe?  You think,” Poe suggested hesitantly, with a hopeful look.

 

“Anyone want to see the dessert menu,” Dan asked merrily, popping up behind Snap this time.

 

There was a collective murmur of negative responses, but Finn said, “A slice of chocolate cake to go, and the checks, I think.”

 

“Sounds good.  I’ll be right back with them,” Dan nodded and striding away.

 

“I thought we were going for ice cream, like usual,” Rose said.  “Ice cream and then the bar, right?”

 

“Bastian can’t go to the bar,” Finn shrugged.  “We’re going to head back after this.”

 

“Oh.  Right,” Rey frowned in thought.  “We could do something else… Any good movies out?”

 

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Finn shook his head.  “You guys should take advantage of the fact that Jess is the designated driver for the first time ever.”

 

“Screw you, Skywalker,” Jess laughed, tossing her napkin at Finn’s face, who laughed, balled it up, and hurled it back.

 

“Things escalated quickly, I see,” Bastian chimed as he dropped back into his seat, skootching himself closer to the table by his heels.

 

“She’s insulting the Skywalker name,” Finn explained, and Bastian inhaled dramatically.

 

“We will not stand for such nonsense.  Iolo, I require your napkin.”

 

“Can’t, I lost it,” the redhead shrugged, waving his hand vaguely at the floor.

 

“You are no help and I am _very_ disappointed in you,” Bastian scolded, wagging his finger in mocking disapproval at Iolo’s smirking face, who replied with,

 

“Yeah, I’m the worse, alright.”

 

“You can use mine,” Poe offered, voice pitched with too much kindness to be natural, and Iolo cringed as Bastian dropped his hand and head, sitting up straighter.

 

“That’s okay, but thank you, um,” Bastian paused, casting a glance at his brother, “sir.”

 

“Poe,” Finn corrected instantly, holding Bastian’s gaze and raising an eyebrow.

 

Bastian blinked.  “Sir Poe sounds like a character from Ivanhoe.  Like, I’m eighty-percent sure they were twins or something.”

 

“And now I know why you got a C in English Lit,” Finn rolled his eyes, slumping back in his seat and turning his head to murmur something Iolo couldn’t catch into Poe’s ear.

 

“Joke’s on you,” Bastian grumbled, fiddling with a woven red-thread bracelet around his right wrist.  “I got a B-minus.”

 

“No need to brag,” Iolo teased gently, reaching out a giving the younger man’s shoulder a squeeze.  “You hanging in there,” he asked, making sure to drop his voice low when he saw Rey and Jess leaning in his direction without any subtility.

 

Bastian shrugged with his right shoulder.  “Kinda tired.  Guess I’m not quite normal yet.”

 

“Pretty sure you’re never _quite normal_ ,” Iolo pointed out and was rewarded with a soft, breathy chuckle.  The redhead had to look away from the younger man’s brown pupils, peeking up through long dark lashes, and found himself noticing a strand of wiry curls which had escaped Bastian’s hair tie.  He felt some inexplicable want to fix it or release the rest of it and swallowed drily. “If you want to bail--,”

 

“Aaaand here are the checks, and a slice of chocolate cake to go,” Dan stated, and Iolo flinched back in surprise, noticing that Bastian mimicked his motions, looking around as if he’d forgotten where he was.

 

“Thank you very much, Dan,” Finn replied loudly, and Iolo scratched the back of his neck sheepishly.

 

“Cake?  Chocolate cake?  Did he say chocolate cake,” Bastian asked, eyes wide as Finn accepted a Styrofoam box and a small pleather folder with the narrow sheets of the separate checks sticking out the top from the waiter, who then beat a hasty retreat.

 

“He might have said something along those lines,” Finn mumbled, beginning to hand out the bills.

 

“You hate cake,” Bastian stated, his face lifting into a smirk.  “You _love_ me, you _adore_ me, I am your _beloved_ \--,”

 

“Hey,” Finn interrupted sharply, waving a ballpoint pen in threat at his brother, “I thought we agreed we were never discussing that.”

 

“We _also_ agreed that we weren’t discussing accounting,” Bastian shrugged, making a show of straightening his rolled left cuff.  Finn winced.

 

“Sorry, can we go back to the fact that at some point Finn called his brother _beloved_ ,” Snap interjected, looking almost giddy.  “Because I need more information on that.”

 

“I was really sick,” Finn grunted, passing Iolo his bill.  The redhead pointed at Bastian and then the three slips of paper in Finn’s hands and then himself.  Finn shook his head with a small frown as his brother said,

 

“Codeine, it’s a strange, dangerous thing.”

 

“What would’ve been nice,” Finn drawled, pulling out his wallet, missing the amused, calculating look Poe trained on him, “was some sympathy instead you taking videos.”

 

“You lost your sympathy privileges when you tried to swaddle me in aluminum foil,” Bastian countered.  Finn opened his mouth and Bastian went on quickly, “I don’t care if I did look like a lonely potato, it was freaky to wake up to you mummifying me.”

 

At that point Iolo couldn’t hold it back and banged his head against the table, joining the booming, echoing laughter of his annoying friends, just hearing Finn’s mumble of

 

“You’re not getting any candles now, buster.”

 

“You’re my favorite brother too,” Bastian’s voice replied just as Iolo felt a narrow, long-fingered hand gently land on his back and start rubbing small circles.

 

_Saturday, July 7 th _

 

Iolo paused at the end of the paragraph, placing his worn copy of _Starship Troopers_ open on his chest and twisting around to adjust the two pillows behind his back and neck, his face tickled by the accelerated cooler air pushed through the small rotating fan on his bedside table as he settled back.  The cold compress, wrapped in a disgustingly bright orange dishtowel, was beginning to go lukewarm on his right knee and the redhead grimaced, lifted it, and tossed it towards his closed bedroom door where either he or Poe would get it later and put it back in the freezer.  Iolo then settled back into the pillow supports and picked up the novel again, tucking his right arm behind his head and exhaling, finding his spot on the page easily.

 

And naturally that was when his phone lit up with an incoming call.

 

Given that it was nearly eight on a Saturday night, Iolo had half a mind to ignore it; everyone who would bother him knew what he was doing and were letting him be.  Except, possibly, one person who was supposed be getting entertained by others for the night…

 

“Why are you on my phone,” Iolo demanded, accepting the call with a slight frown.

 

“Poe came to pick up Finn and said you were bedridden,” Bastian answered instantly.  “That was the actually word too: _bedridden_.”

 

Iolo scoffed, putting his book to the side and slumping down.  “I’m giving him so much shit when I see him.  Bedridden my ass.”

 

“Yeah, your ass is bedridden—that’s what he said,” Bastian agreed cheerfully.

 

“Uh-huh,” the redhead sighed, running his thumb along his kneecap.  “I’m fine.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“I am,” Iolo said, more firmly because the excessive dose of disbelief from the other was not appreciated.

 

“Do—was it because of me,” Bastian asked hesitantly, and the redhead rolled his eyes.

 

“It’s not all about you, dude.”

 

“Yeah, I know but--,”

 

“I screwed up my knee playing rugby in college,” Iolo went on before he could overthink it.  “Basically had to have it reconstructed.”

 

“Holy shit,” Bastian breathed.

 

“And if you want to blame yourself for that then be my guest, but I remember the guy who tackled me and he had a hundred pounds on you easily,” Iolo finished lightly, picking at a crease in his pale blue sheets.

 

“Also, if you were in college I was in, like, middle school and if you got KO-ed by an eleven-year-old you’re kinda pathetic,” Bastian teased, and Iolo felt the knot in his stomach he didn’t realize he had relax and hated his body for its reaction.

 

“What happened to dinner,” he asked instead.

 

“Nothing, I had Froot Loops.”

 

“And?”

 

“And iron, oh my God, you’re as bad as Finn, man,” Bastian whined extravagantly.  Iolo chuckled lowly before remembering what he was actually asking.

 

“I thought Poe was taking you out for sushi,” Iolo said. 

 

“I mean, he offered but—I don’t think he wanted a third wheel tagging along,” Bastian mumbled, accompanied by rustling and a soft harrumph.  “No, down, boy, _down_.”

 

Iolo hummed, considering.  “Are you going to tell me what’s your problem with Poe or do you want to sulk about it?”

 

“I don’t have a problem with him,” the younger man huffed, and Iolo could picture the pouting bottom lip that went with that statement.  The redhead stayed quiet, waiting the other out, and after about twenty seconds Bastian exhaled heavily.  “He doesn’t like me.”

 

“He doesn’t know you,” Iolo retorted without thinking and then silently cussed himself out.  “Personally.  He doesn’t know you personally.  He knows you exist, obviously.”

 

“He knows me enough to keep sending me weird looks,” Bastian grumbled, so low that the redhead had to press his phone closer to his ear to catch it. 

 

“Weird looks?  Constipated or tough math problem,” Iolo questioned, wriggling his toes as they began to numb.

 

There was a moment’s hesitation and then a familiar breathy chortle.  “Tough math problem, for sure,” Bastian replied.

 

“That’s just Poe deciding if it’s too soon to hug you,” Iolo stated, purposefully keeping his voice unconcerned.

 

“Wait, seriously?”

 

“Oh yeah.  I used to get that look every morning,” Iolo responded casually, picking at the crease in his blue sheets.  “Then he met Finn and I was spared.”

 

There was a brief pause, and then Bastian whispered, “Thank you, Iolo Arana.”

 

“Shut up,” Iolo dismissed, sliding down his pillow support until he was lying flat with his head propped up.  “Poe thinks you hate him because he’s sleeping with your brother,” he pivoted awkwardly.

 

“I don’t care if he’s cuddling Finn,” Bastian answered, sounding almost offended.  “What, does he think I’ve got some screwed-up Oedipus complex happening?  Because I _don’t_ and that’s _gross_ and--,”

 

“I don’t think Poe’s mind is dark enough to come up with that,” Iolo interrupted, voice shivering with chuckles.  “But now I know yours is.”

 

“That’s me: all rainbows on the outside and a raging Freudian nightmare inside,” Bastian gloated with an audible smile. 

 

“Someone has taken one too many Intro to Psych classes,” Iolo teased, and Bastian’s bright laughter reverberated back.

 

“Dude, for, like, two weeks I was convinced I had manic episodes or something and then I learned there’s an _actual_ condition where you imagine you have a psychological condition because you’re reading about it and _that’s_ when I knew psychology wasn’t for me,” Bastian rambled, and Iolo grinned, shaking his head, knowing the other man couldn’t see and not giving a damn.  “I’m too gullible for that shit.  When I was three Finn told me ice cream trucks only play music when they were out of ice cream, like as a warning.”

 

“Jesus,” Iolo exhaled, rubbing the heel of his hand against his left, teary eye.  “How long did you believe that?”

 

“Uh, until the end of season soccer party when I was seven.”

 

“That’s twisted,” Iolo laughed happily.  “And you’re stupid.”

 

“Oh, for sure.  The most stupid,” Bastian agreed cheerfully, and the redhead closed his eyes, deciding silently that there were worse ways to spend a night.  “Is—is Poe stupid?”

 

The redhead kept his eyes shut and pursed his lips.  “Maybe the second most stupid.”

 

“Okay.  Okay,” Bastian repeated with a little more certainty.  “I can work with that...  And—and he doesn’t hate me, right?”

 

“Nah, but give him a chance,” Iolo joked before taking a deep breath.  “Seriously, give him a shot.  Poe—he’s had my back through some shit.  He’s good.”

 

“…yeah, but he’s kinda mediocre on licorice…”

 

“I never said he was _perfect_.”

 

…

 

“Hey, buddy, we’re back.”

 

“I never would’ve guessed,” Iolo groused half-heartedly, folding over the corner of the page he was determined to get through that night even if he had to hobble to the closet and hide there for the next hour.

 

Poe smiled and shrugged, taking one step into Iolo’s room and picking up the sweaty, towel-entangled cold compress.  “How’s the knee?”

 

“Fucked,” the redhead replied, aiming a glare at his leg.  “But I took some ibuprofen.”

 

“Really?  All by yourself?  I’m so proud,” Poe said with complete sincerity and Iolo rolled his eyes.  “Do you need help getting up?  Bathroom break?”

 

“Nah, I managed,” Iolo shrugged, bracing his weight on his palms as his roommate sat on the edge of the bed and carefully took the redhead’s right heel in his hands.  “Don’t draw it out,” he said through clenched teeth.

 

Poe shot him an unamused look before slipping his left hand under Iolo’s right thigh and slowly bending the redhead’s leg, bringing his heel towards his butt.  It hurt—it would always hurt—but it wasn’t the tear-inducing agony it had been earlier, and Iolo exhaled through the shooting, radiating pain, relaxing his jaw.  “Good job,” Poe praised with a small smile as he drew Iolo’s foot back, straightening the leg.  “Tomorrow we’ll work it out more.  And I’m making you an appointment with Kalonia—no excuses.”

 

“She’s cruel,” Iolo panted, letting Poe run his fingers through the redhead’s unwashed hair without comment, although he did narrow his eyes in judgement.

 

“So am I.  You’re going,” Poe retorted firmly, getting to his feet as Finn wandered in, hesitating just inside Iolo’s dimly-lit bedroom.

 

“Uh, Bas said I needed to make sure you didn’t die on the toilet.”

 

“You can tell that little sicko,” Iolo shot back, struggling to sit up as his right leg refused to cooperate, “that it is disgusting to talk on the phone and piss at the same time and I am seriously concerned about his mental stability that he thinks that would be okay.”

 

Finn blinked, sucking in his lips as his brow creased.  “I’m going to let you tell him that yourself, thanks.”

 

“Do I want to know,” Poe asked, unconcealed amusement lighting his eyes as he studied the redhead, who glowered back.

 

“He called because some dumbass told him I was _bedridden_.”

 

“You know, you are the textbook definition of bedridden right now, right,” Finn pointed out as Poe rolled his eyes.

 

“He kept asking if you going to meet us there or if we were picking you up or if we were bringing food back to you,” Poe explained with a sigh and a shrug.  “I told him you needed a night off.”

 

“Thanks for that,” the redhead muttered darkly, remembering Bastian’s hesitance to believe whatever was wrong with Iolo wasn’t his fault.  “Why didn’t you take him to dinner?”

 

“He said he had a headache.  We brought him back some California rolls and mochi,” Finn answered easily.  “There’s some cucumber sushi in the fridge for you later, by the way.  I’m going to get ready for bed,” he directed to Poe, kissing the other’s stubbled cheek as he turned.  “See you in the morning, Iolo.”

 

“He’s staying here,” the redhead asked as Finn’s footsteps and accompanied floorboard squeaks faded.

 

“Yeah,” Poe drew out slowly, as if he was worried about his roommate’s mental facilities.  “It’s not like it’s the first time, dude.”

 

“No, but what about…”

 

Poe smiled tightly without his eyes.  “Bastian was more than okay with us not staying at Finn’s.  He was also half-asleep and sprawled across Finn’s bed and I’m not a monster, making the sleepy kid move to the couch.  And no, actually,” he went on when Iolo opened his mouth, “Finn and I don’t fit on the sectional.  Bastian will be fine and, if he’s not, I’m sure you’ll be the first to know, okay?”

 

Iolo swallowed drily, knowing exactly what he would be doing if he had any confidence in his knees.  “Fine.”

 

“Fine,” Poe echoed, tapping his knuckles against the doorframe.  “Holler if you need anything.”

 

_Sunday, July 8 th _

 

“Damn it, what the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

 

“Coffee,” Iolo grunted in reply, shuffling towards the coffeemaker, steaming and two-thirds full, waiting for him.

 

“I told you to call when you were done with the shower,” Poe scolded, glaring at his roommate, shoving two Eggo frozen waffles into the toaster with more force than necessary.  “Don’t be a hero, Lo.”

 

“I can put on pants all by myself,” Iolo retorted, all his attention zeroed in on the hot brown liquid pouring from the coffeepot into his ‘I’m Shetland and I Know It’ mug, which had been placed on the counter beside the sink.

 

“Yeah, but what if you couldn’t?  Or what if your knee seized when you were getting out of the shower, huh?  Then I’d be driving you to the hospital instead of sitting down to a nice Sunday breakfast all because you’re too goddamn stubborn to _ask for_ \--,”

 

“Oh my God, why are you such a _dad_ ,” Iolo moaned, replacing the pot and shooting an exasperated look at Finn, sitting at the table, reading the Sunday Boston Globe Poe insisted on subscribing to for no discernable reason.  “Finn, can you adopt some kid so Poe can find an outlet for all his dad-ness?”

 

Finn smirked and turned the page.  “I think he already did.”

 

“Huh,” Iolo blinked, confused, while Poe picked up Iolo’s mug and placed a hand on the small of the redhead’s back.

 

“How ‘bout we take a seat, buddy, before you collapse.”

 

“Man, this is a lot right now,” Iolo commented as he was guided out of the narrow kitchen, around the couch, and towards the small round kitchen table that should only seat two but they’d been able to fit six uncomfortably before.  “So much.”

 

“Uh-huh, whatever you say,” Poe humored mindlessly, setting the mug down on the table and giving Iolo a small push towards the more stable of the remaining chair options.  “I’m going to check on the bacon.”

 

Iolo’s eyes darted to the fire alarm on the wall above the front door and was relieved to see the warning light was off.  Poe moseyed back to the stove and Finn began to pull out the seat for Iolo, all three freezing in place when the doorbell rang out.  “Dibs,” Iolo shouted, pivoting and shambling for the door, rounding the coffee table at a pathetic speed.

 

“I hope you fall on your ass,” Poe snapped, waving a spatula in threat as Iolo reached the door, hoisted up his loose sweatpants and rolled his shoulders, twisting the deadbolt open and unhooking the chain.

 

“Have you heard about our lord and savior,” Iolo began cheerfully, breaking off in confusion as he caught sight off who was on his doormat.

 

“No,” Bastian drawled gleefully, his lips stretching wide with mirth.  “Is her name Eris?”

 

“How the hell do you get in here,” the redhead blurted out, scanning the younger man for signs of magic or lockpicking equipment.  “There’s two locks between the street and us to keep vagabonds out.”

 

Bastian smirked, running his eyes down Iolo’s body tellingly, roving over the white, holey tank and old, baggy gray sweatpants and then back to the redhead’s face.  “They’re not very effective, huh?”

 

“Evidently not,” Iolo shot back with a glare that broke as he shook his head and took a slow step back.  “Eris, huh?”

 

“She’s a badass,” Bastian replied cheerfully, entering the apartment, brushing against Iolo’s shoulder and arm as he passed.  “Morning.  Where’s your shirt?”

 

Iolo let the door close and looked back, noticing for the first time that Finn was, in fact, topless.  Iolo had stopped paying any attention to the amount of clothing on Poe and Finn at any given time months ago; they both were ridiculously comfortable with their bodies, which was something Iolo was sure he’d never understand.

 

“Really, Bas?  You want the answer to that,” Finn asked blandly, cocking an eyebrow.

 

Iolo watched Bastian’s gaze dart between his brother and Poe, who was leaning, hunched, against the counter, looking torn between worried and amused.  “Uh, yeah, no, I’m good.  I’m all good without any kind of detailed explanation.”

 

“I figured,” Finn chuckled, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms over his bare chest.  “What do you want, Bas?”

 

Iolo saw Bastian’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed and took a dragged step closer to the younger man.  “I,” Bastian began, scratching the side of his nose and glancing at Poe, “was wondering if you wanted to get brunch.”

 

The toaster popped, emitting the two browned waffles into the air.

 

“What, now,” Finn asked, tapping his fingers against the metal tabletop.

 

“Well, now-ish,” Bastian allowed, still staring at Poe.  “Like, now-adjacent.”

 

Finn closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and then opened his eyes wide.  “Fine.  Sure,” he heaved, getting to his feet.  “Give me a few minutes to--,”

 

“No, not you,” Bastian shook his head.  “I’m asking Poe.”

 

Poe frowned.  “What, all three of us?”

 

“No,” Bastian ground out, casting a panicked look over his shoulder to Iolo.  “It’s not working,” he whined softly, and the redhead had to remind himself that Bastian’s sad eyes were not a good enough reason to punch his roommate in the face.

 

“Poe,” Iolo announced, moving to stand beside Bastian, tossing an arm around the younger man’s shoulders, “Bastian wants to take you to brunch.  What do you say when someone invites you to brunch?”

 

“Oh,” Poe breathed, looking a little too shocked for Iolo’s taste.  Iolo raised both his eyebrows insistently, and his friend gave himself a little shake.  “I’d love to, Bastian.  Give me ten minutes to get ready.”

 

“You have three,” Iolo retorted decisively, and Poe chuckled as he crossed out of the kitchen and headed for his room, patting Finn on the back as he passed.

 

“It’s not that urgent,” Bastian commented once Poe closed his door.  “Like, we have time.”

 

“Give Poe ten, he’ll take twenty,” Iolo shrugged, starting for the couch.  A hand caught his elbow and Iolo chose to ignore how the support was helpful as he plowed on to the sofa, dropping down with a huff.  “It’s the hair,” he added as Bastian released his hold and perched himself on the couch arm beside him.

 

“Just like someone else I know,” Finn teased, leaning his hip against the breakfast table.

 

“Hey, this is _art_ ,” Bastian countered, patting his hands against his maintained curls.

 

“Yeah, I know,” Finn smiled back.  “Do you need any money?”

 

“Nah, I’m good.  I stopped at the ATM for cash on the way,” Bastian replied, poking the toe of his bright red Converse against the edge of the area rug.

 

Finn seemed to consider before saying, “You might have a bit of a wait.  Brunch is kind of prime real estate around here.”

 

“I made a reservation last night,” Bastian shrugged, gaze on the floor.

 

“When,” Iolo blurted out, drawing Bastian’s eyes to him, blinking at the younger man’s sheepish grin.

 

“Just around the time you started describing the difference between a scrum-half and a fly-half,” Bastian admitted, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and Iolo reached up and punched the younger man in the arm.  Bastian gasped and clutched his bicep in dramatic agony, and Iolo rotated his head to catch Finn’s observing attention.

 

“Was he raised in a circus,” the redhead asked loudly and rhetorically, ignoring Bastian’s sputtering indignation.

 

Finn grinned mischievously.  “Believe it or not, he was raised by a brigadier general.  But,” he went on as Iolo’s jaw dropped, “the brigadier general spoiled him rotten.”

 

“Big talk,” Bastian mumbled in a sulk, crossing his arms.  “You’re Dad’s favorite.”

 

“Oh, is that right,” Finn laughed, standing up to his full height.  “I don’t remember Dad changing his deployment schedule so he’d be home for my birthday.”

 

“Only because he never scheduled a tour on your birthday,” Bastian countered moodily.

 

“Now, children, let’s be serious about this,” Iolo interjected loudly, lying a hand on Bastian’s bent knee.  “We all know I’m your dad’s favorite.”

 

The brothers cracked, bursting into complimentary laughter—one low and one high—and Iolo shifted back into the cushions, proud of himself.

 

“What?  What did I miss,” came Poe’s voice as the other man emerged from his bedroom, shoving the hem of his black polo shirt into the waistband of his khaki chinos.  Iolo opened his mouth to reply and choked on air as Bastian swooped down and pressed his lips against the redhead’s cheek.

 

“Thank you,” the younger man whispered fervently into Iolo’s ear, “for everything.”  Iolo swallowed, slight buzzing in his ears telling him all he needed to know, but Poe’s mildly perturbed expression over Finn’s shoulder helped to assure him that he was well and truly screwed.  Bastian, on the other hand, pulled back, got to his feet with a small, private smile to the redhead, and shoved his hands in his pockets as he asked, “Brunch?”

 

“Uh.  Yep.  That sounds delightful,” Poe stammered out, meeting Finn’s look with one of his own, silently communicating something Iolo couldn’t catch.

 

“Cool,” Bastian said simply, traipsing to the door.  He pulled open the apartment door and asked over his shoulder, “Is something burning” before stepping into the hall.

 

“Crap.”

 

“I’ll take care of it,” Finn supplied hastily, giving Poe a small push as he bustled for the kitchen.  “Follow him—he _will_ keep walking and expect you to follow.”

 

“Yeah, that’s his thing,” Iolo agreed, his voice remembering how to work as his roommate grabbed his keys from the hanging wicker basket.

 

“Okay, that?  _That_ ,” Poe stated emphatically, pointing at his roommate as he backed out of the apartment, “we are talking about after brunch.”

 

Iolo flipped his middle finger up but Poe was already bounding away with a shout of, “Bastian?  Bastian, where did you go?”

 

…

 

“Here’s the thing--,”

 

“ _Black Mirror_ is better at night,” Iolo finished easily, nodding in agreement as he scooped the final blob of yoghurt and granola onto his spoon.  “But you’re the one who wanted to see the next episode.  And don’t go blaming this on me when Poe gets all pouty.”

 

“The thing is,” Finn went on, staring purposefully at the television screen where the Netflix home screen was listing suggested content but, because Poe and Iolo shared an account, they didn’t make any sense, “I’m a bit overprotective of Bastian.”

 

Iolo chewed absentmindedly on the granola before swallowing.  “What are you talking about?”

 

Finn shifted on the couch, glancing at the digital clock displayed on the cable box just like he had been every ten minutes for the past two hours.  “Everyone—all of you keep acting like I was hiding Bas or lying or something.  And I wasn’t.”

 

Iolo let his spoon fall with a clatter into the orange porcelain bowl and set it on the side table.  “Alright.  You sure I’m the one you want to be saying this to?”

 

Finn’s left eye twitched.  “Seems like I’m going to have to tell you a lot of stuff.  Bastian’s special,” he went on over Iolo’s flapping jaw, “and I love him.  Seriously.  The whole sappy, Hallmark movie, capital L love, okay?”

 

“Gross,” the redhead offered for the lack of anything better, adding a small shrug.

 

“Sometimes,” Finn continued, his voice a little tight, “s _ometimes_ it feels like I’m the only one who does.  I mean, I don’t…I get where they’re coming from.  He’s annoying—God, is he annoying.  And loud.  And borderline inconsiderate sometimes.  And are there days I’ve wanted to leave him in the desert for a few hours of quiet—absolutely.  But, I mean, can you blame me?”

 

The redhead blinked slowly, his brain moving a little too sluggishly to follow the diatribe directed at him.  “He’s—yeah, he’s a lot.  But, if you know how to handle him…”

 

Finn shifted to face Iolo straight on as the other man trailed off.  “I think you might be the first person not related to him that has figured out how to handle Bas.”

 

“I—I don’t know what to say to that,” Iolo answered honestly.  That touched a little too close to something he was trying very hard to ignore.

 

Finn smirked, one eyebrow arching upwards smugly.  “Yeah, Poe said you were still pretty far up denial.  If you could stay there for, like, two more years, I’d appreciate it.”

 

“ _Two_ _years_?!”

 

“Well, that would be ideal,” Finn shrugged, crossing his arms.  “He’s too young right now.  And he’s in California for the next year and a half at least for school.  So, two years…gives all of us time to wrap our heads around how bonkers you and my baby brother will be.”

 

“I don’t know if you’re fucking with me,” the redhead said lowly, his eyes narrowed in consideration.  “Are you?  Are you fucking with me right now?”

 

“I don’t fuck around with anyone where Bastian’s concerned,” Finn replied with heavy seriousness, his face tensing.  “That’s…that’s the thing.  I’ve had friends before—people I thought were friends, I guess.  But they picked on Bastian—called him names, played pranks on him, messed with his head.  I’m not talking about one-offs either,” he sighed, shaking his head.  “Every single fucking time I brought someone home—it was like clockwork.  Bastian would get all excited, asking questions and trying to play, and as soon as he was gone I’d get ‘what’s wrong with him’ or ‘we should lock him in the basement’ or ‘where’s the duct tape.’  And I’d kick them out, but Bastian’s not dumb; he knew what was going on.  And it hurt his feelings, you know?”

 

“Some people are pieces of shit,” Iolo hissed fervently, angry at individuals he’d probably never meet but wanted to hurt anyway.

 

“They are,” Finn agreed with a small smile.  “So, when I moved here…I met Poe and the rest of you and…well, Bastian’s not exactly my ice breaker and then more time passed and it never got easier to introduce him into conversation.  ‘Hey so, my brother did the craziest thing at Disneyland today…no, he’s eighteen but he’s kind of obsessed with Goofy…’”

 

Iolo grinned, picturing the scene.  “Yeah, there would’ve been some questions.”

 

“Exactly,” Finn groaned, rolling his head back against the top of the long couch cushion, stretching his neck.  “But now everyone likes him better than me—what the hell, right?”

 

“Not everyone,” Iolo allowed helpfully.

 

“Just you?”

 

“Just me,” the redhead agreed, exhaling with a whoosh.  “But definitely me.”

 

Finn glowered jokingly, pointing and wagging his finger threateningly.  “Two years, remember?”  Iolo rolled his eyes, bending his knee experimentally just as the door opened and Poe strolled into the apartment.  “Hey.  Hi.  What happened?  What’s up?”

 

Poe’s face stayed carefully expressionless as he closed the door behind him with a soft click and crossed over to the couch.  Iolo shifted a little to the left, away from Finn as Poe stopped, standing between his boyfriend’s outstretched legs, his hands in his pockets.  Finn shot a scared look at the redhead, who scooted over a little more, just to be safe.

 

“You know,” Poe began, deliberately slow, “I always wanted a little brother.”

 

Iolo watched as Finn swallowed; it looked like it hurt.  “I have one of those,” he said, voice strained.  “Do—we could share?”

 

Poe heaved a deep sigh, one that Iolo knew well, and itched his thumb nail against the bridge of his nose.  “Damn right we are,” he answered softly before leaning down and brushing his lips against Finn’s for a breath.  “He’s great, bud.  He didn’t scare me off, and he couldn’t even if he was trying, okay?”

 

“So, not a disaster,” Finn asked, for clarification, and Poe rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

 

“Not even close to a disaster.  And once I told him to cut the best behavior act we had a nice time,” Poe stated, patting Iolo on the head as he stepped over sprawled legs and headed to the kitchen, catching two of the squeaky floorboards as he went.  “He was demonstrating corrective Ph-level techniques in lakes and nearly poisoned himself, but other than that I think we pulled through pretty well.”

 

“Is that your way of saying you left his body in some alley,” Iolo asked lightly, but the amused look Finn sent his way indicated he wasn’t as off-handed as he hoped.

 

Poe chortled with a glint in his eyes while he pulled the small chrome kettle off its hook under the counter.  “He’ll be up.  One of the neighbors is trying to flirt and failing so hard.”

 

“What neighbor,” Iolo demanded as Finn laughed loudly and obnoxiously.

 

“I think it’s Greg.  Or Craig,” Poe said, blasé, while filling the kettle at the sink.  “Why?  Is there a problem?”

 

“Shut up,” Iolo snarled just as the door was thrown open with force and enthusiasm and Gibraltar and Bastian made their grand entrance.

 

“You left me,” Bastian pronounced as the door slammed shut, his finger thrust towards Poe, who, when Iolo craned his neck around to look, was grinning widely and turning on one of the burners.  “Why’d you leave me?”

 

“When a guy is failing that hard, he doesn’t need witnesses,” Poe explained, placing the kettle over the small flickering ring of blue flames and leaning back against the counter.  “It was just sad, Bas, really it was.”

 

“Huh?  Failing at what?  He was asking about Gibby,” Bastian shrugged away, dropping to his knees and unclipping the leash from the German Shepard’s collar.

 

“Bastian, little buddy,” Poe cooed, the left corner of his lips twisting up in a half-smile, “he wasn’t talking about the dog.”

 

“He was too,” Bastian countered loudly, almost drowning out his brother’s whimper and Iolo’s low growl of discomfort.  “Creighton said--,”

 

“Creighton,” Poe repeated flatly.  “How did I forget that?”

 

“—that he liked the hair,” Bastian went on, eyes wide and hands absentmindedly stroking Gibraltar’s tufted fur around his collar.  “And I told him the secret was protein--,”

 

“Jesus Christ,” Finn breathed, pained, and Iolo choked out an incredulous laugh.

 

“And he was _super_ interested in that--,”

 

“You don’t say,” Iolo asked rhetorically, nodding in reply to Bastian’s beaming, toothy smile shot his way.

 

“Yeah, so I told him about the egg trick—like scrambled eggs once a week—and he seemed less interested so I think he doesn’t really like eggs, which I kinda get ‘cause I don’t think scrambled eggs are all that great either—Finn, are you dying or something?”

 

“No,” the elder brother strangled out before turning to face Iolo and holding up three fingers.  The redhead glanced from the upstretched digits to Finn’s hard look and held up his right pointer finger.  Finn shook his head minutely, and Iolo raised his eyebrows, tilting his head slightly to the left.  Carefully, Finn lowered one finger and Iolo held out his hand, shaking his head at the bizarreness of it all as Finn gripped his hand with a nod.

 

“Whoa,” Bastian marveled, eyes blown wide, watching the pair on the couch.  “You guys have a secret handshake?  Poe, why don’t we have a secret handshake?  We look totally lame now.”

 

“We’ve got one,” Poe said from the kitchen, followed by the sound of a cabinet closing.  “It’s so secret you don’t know about it.”

 

Bastian nodded seriously, his lips pressed together as he considered that, still kneeling on the floor, sitting back on his heels, and Iolo found his lips stretching into the easiest smile of his life.  “That’s probably for the best; I suck at keeping secrets.”

 

“Amen to that,” Finn laughed, flicking his wrist at his brother.  “Stop sitting on the floor and pretend you’re a real boy.”

 

“I dunno, the floor is where it’s at, right, Gibs,” Bastian teased, headbutting the German Shepard with a joyful giggle.

 

“Yeah, but Lo can’t sit on the floor,” Finn mentioned, which Iolo thought was a bit of a non sequitur.  Judging by the subsequent frantic scramble and Bastian flopping down on the couch between his brother and the redhead, Iolo was the only one who thought that.  Bastian turned a high-wattage grin up at Iolo as he slouched back into the cushions and Finn wormed an arm around his narrow waist and tugged his brother to his side.  “All good,” Finn asked quietly, voice low enough that Iolo guessed he wasn’t meant to hear.

 

“I like him.  His eyes didn’t glaze over when I was talking, like, at all,” Bastian answered, his volume not as soft but it was probably as muted as the younger man got.

 

Iolo’s jaw clenched but Finn nodded seriously.  “Good.  Did you pay?”

 

Bastian rolled his eyes, crossing his arms.  “Yeah, duh.  I do have _some_ manners, you know.”  Finn snorted, reaching over to burrow his free hand in Bastian’s curls and ruffled.  Bastian pushed the hand away with a light laugh.  “Poe didn’t like it, but I’m a paying ninja.  He got me a giant bear claw in revenge.”

 

“You don’t like almonds,” Finn pointed out in a murmur, and Iolo could almost feel his mind filing that tidbit away—it sounded like a metal draw opening, a manila folder sliding against another, and then the draw whacking shut.

 

“Well, don’t tell _him_ ,” Bastian hissed, jerking his head towards the kitchen, where Poe was still puttering around.  “I ate that pastry like my life depended on it.”

 

Finn snorted and hooked his arm around the younger man’s neck, tugging Bastian closer.  “You’re a nice guy, Bas,” he stated fondly, smile soft and affectionate.

 

“Best brother ever,” Bastian asked, glancing up through his lashes.

 

“Eh, you’re okay,” Finn joked easily before planting a quick kiss on the crown of Bastian’s head.  Then Finn shot the redhead a quick mischievous look and shoved Bastian into Iolo’s side, who grunted at the sudden weight.

 

Bastian seemed perfectly content with the switch if his beaming grin and nuzzle to Iolo’s shoulder was anything to go by.  Iolo rolled his eyes, bumping his elbow against Bastian’s as the younger man made himself comfortable against the redhead.  “So what did you two do?  Weep inconsolably without me to fill your life with light and joy?”

 

Iolo couldn’t pass up an opening like that—he was only human.  “Your brother was negotiating your dowry,” he drawled with an innocent smirk just as the high-pitched whistle from the kitchen spiked through the air.

 

“Thanks,” Finn ground out flatly, unamused, and Bastian’s head whipped back and forth between them.

 

“Not the Skywalker Sapphires,” Bastian breathed, scandalized, the corner of his lips twitching up tellingly while he tried to look serious.

 

Finn snorted and looked away, reaching for his mug of coffee on the low table.  “He drives a hard bargain, but I need to get you off my hands somehow.”

 

Bastian threw back his head, cackling merrily and clapping his hands, reminding Iolo of nothing but an excited child, but the redhead found it fit.

 

“I’ve decided I don’t want to know,” Poe declared as he wandered back into the living room, stepping over Iolo’s outstretched legs with a steaming red mug in his hand.  “Here, drink,” he ordered neutrally, thrusting the mug towards Bastian, who took it with wide eyes and a pleased smile.

 

Catching a whiff of the fragrant steam, the redhead’s forehead creased in confusion.  “That’s my good tea,” he pointed out while Poe picked up the remote and leaned his hip against the couch arm, focused on the television screen.

 

“Do you care,” Poe asked, glancing over out of the corner of his eye with a raised eyebrow.

 

Finn smirked, and Bastian turned to face Iolo, looking between the redhead and the cup in hand twice before slowing holding out the mug tentatively.

 

“Nah, I don’t care,” Iolo dismissed, quickly angling himself to face ahead and groaning as Poe selected _Black Mirror_ and Finn gulped audibly next to him.

 

_Monday, July 9 th-Thursday, July 12th_

 

Iolo discovered there was a lot of things he didn’t care about, once he started to pay attention.

 

On Monday, he didn’t care that when he left his apartment at six-fifteen in the morning in his gym shorts and old gray t-shirt he found Bastian and Gibraltar sitting on the cement steps of his building.  Bastian had grinned and stood, and Iolo smiled back at the man dressed in obviously-borrowed workout clothes.  The redhead had jerked his head down the street, and the three had jogged off towards the promenade, the German Shepard letting out an enthusiastic bark.

 

On Tuesday, Iolo didn’t care that he had to move his work tablet and sketchbooks and drafting pencils and his carefully organized notes off the large wood table while Finn and Bastian argued the pros and cons of Taboo and Trivial Pursuit and Poe emptied hot bags of popcorn into bowls, hissing and cussing to himself.

 

On Wednesday, he didn’t care that his two scoops of mango sorbet got smeared with moose tracks (and no, he didn’t think peanut butter and mangoes were _made for each other_ ) while Bastian listed the top ten merits of the combination and Rey giggled into her cone of black raspberry and Finn pretended to ignore them, squinting against the sunset over Casco Bay.

 

And on Thursday, Iolo really didn’t care when he lost feeling in his left arm and his left leg went numb and his cheeks hurt from smiling as Bastian’s soft, dozing sniffles brushed his neck and the curls tickled the redhead’s cheek and _Antman_ was projected onto the large screen stretched above the beach.  Iolo had drawn the younger man closer to his side, watching the upper right corner of the film from his lounging position on the beach blanket, and Poe had held out the box of Junior Mints from his low beach chair, rolling his eyes and shaking a few candies in his roommate’s open mouth and twisting Finn’s head forward with his free hand.

 

_Friday, July 13 th _

 

“Since when is _this_ a thing,” Iolo asked in genuine shock, waving his hand towards the wooden platform, illuminated by strings of clear bulbs, a swing band setting a quick beat at the far end while couples stumbled and laughed and dodged away from the few who knew what they were doing.

 

“Swing dancing?  I think the 1920s,” Jess commented from where she was leaning on the metal railing of the promenade with a plastic cup of sparkling apple cider dangling in her right hand.  Iolo grunted, unimpressed, and Jess rolled her eyes.  “They do this, like, once a month or something in the summer.  It’s cute.”

 

“It’s something,” Iolo hedged, catching sight of Rose and Snap swaying awkwardly, Rose standing on Snap’s feet as he took zombie steps around the edge of the dancefloor.  Karé and Rey stomped past them, clasped hands held straight ahead, cheeks pressed together with serious expressions which cracked simultaneously when Rose ordered Snap to pursue.

 

“Sounds like someone needs some more contraband,” Jess hinted, patting the back pocket of her denim shorts.

 

“I think you gave Rose a bit too much,” the redhead mentioned, nodding to where Rose was trying to instigate a round of Cotton-Eye Joe, while Snap massaged his foot and Rey convulsed in hysterics.  Still, Iolo held out his glass of orange juice and smirked as Jess poured in a healthy shot of vodka from her narrow flask.

 

“Aw, look at Poe,” Jess cooed, twisting the cap back on the flask swiftly and hiding it from sight before pointing over to where Poe was twirling happily, his right hand held aloft by a beaming Bastian.  “All his Disney princess dreams are coming true.”

 

“I hope he’s saving some of them,” came Finn’s dry retort as the other man slouched over, slipping the flask from Jess’s pocket and turning away from the dance floor to add some vodka to his Sprite.  “I’m gonna have to strap Bas in to the plane seat tomorrow as is it.”

 

“Have we convinced him to drop everything and move to Maine,” Jess inquired cheerfully.

 

Finn rolled his eyes.  “I don’t think _we_ had anything to do with it,” he said pointedly, glaring slightly at the redhead, who shrugged unapologetically.

 

“Just doing my part to promote Portland’s tourist attractions.”

 

“Sure,” Finn drawled as the band brought the song to a melodious screeching conclusion, and a smattering of applause and hoots encouraged the next number.  Snap limped off the dancefloor, supported by Rey, and Bastian and Poe skipped by them, arms linked, and skidding to a halt beside the three observers.

 

“Finn, let me have a sip--,”

 

“Get your own,” Finn snapped, twisting out of his brother’s reach and into Poe’s loose hold.  Bastian whined exaggeratedly but moseyed over to the refreshment tables, draped in white paper tablecloths and manned by three stern-looking matrons in floral dresses.

 

“Gimme,” Poe laughed, pulling the cup out of his boyfriend’s grasp and taking a gulp.  “Nice,” he said with a wolfish grin before handing it back.  “I think your brother’s the Energizer Bunny.”

 

“Pretty much,” Finn sighed, leaning back into Poe’s chest.  “You’re kind of encouraging him though, so it’s your own fault.”

 

“Oh, I’m not complaining,” Poe said, wrapping both his arms around Finn’s waist more securely.  “Were you like that when you were his age?”

 

Finn snorted.  “I don’t think anyone in the history of the world has been like Bas.”  Iolo ducked his head with a dopy smile, instantly jumping back to avoid getting kicked in the shin by a red and white sneaker.  “You’re going to talk to him, right?”

 

Iolo looked up, frowning.  “Bas?  Uh, I’ve been talking to him—or did you black out for the last week?”

 

Finn’s expression went flat and unamused.  “Don’t be an idiot; you know what I meant.”

 

Poe narrowed his eyes, notching his chin on Finn’s shoulder.  “Is this more of your secret-handshake-buddy-buddy stuff?  ‘Cause I’m starting to feel left out.”

 

“I think she broke my toes,” Snap groaned, dropping onto the ground and ripping at the laces of shoes, Rey squatting next to him, lips pursed in mild concern.

 

“Hey, those ladies are super sweet,” Bastian announced, bouncing up beside Iolo with a cup and several bright white daisies nestled in his hair.  “Dorothy said she’d give me some brandy and Ethel gave me, like, half her bouquet.”

 

“ _What_?”

 

“Chill, I passed on the brandy,” Bastian soothed, patting Finn’s shoulder as his brother cast an evaluating look over the guardians of the snacks.  “And you know old ladies love a ‘fro.  I’m basically a grandma magnet.  Hey, Lo,” he pivoted; his brother pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh, “you wanna dance?  I know with your knee you kinda can’t but you could totally stand on my feet—like Rose did!”

 

“I’m going to do a hard pass on that,” Iolo stated, Snap shaking his head in frantic warning at the redhead.  Finn shot him another hard look, and Iolo pushed himself away from the railing.  “How about we take a walk instead?”

 

Jess and Rey wolf-whistled loudly, but Bastian’s smile fell away instantly.  Iolo winced and shook his head once, taking a step around Bastian and knocking their shoulders together lightly.  He took a few more slow steps, hearing behind him Finn’s soft, “Go on” before another set of footsteps joined his.  The redhead didn’t look over as Bastian matched his strides, arms swinging loosely at his sides.  As they rounded a turn in the paved path, the back of Iolo’s hand was bumped.  Iolo ignored it, but at the second bump a small smile eased the corners of his lips.

 

“Yes,” Iolo asked leadingly, watching Bastian’s profile out of the corner of his eye.

 

“Um, can we—ya know?  Like—do that?”

 

The redhead blinked, tilting his head to look more clearly at the younger man, watching Bastian’s bottom lip disappear under his upper teeth.  “If you can’t say it, we probably shouldn’t do it,” he said, with a smirk.

 

Bastian stopped walking with a huff, Iolo halting a half step ahead.  “I can say it,” the younger man mumbled.  “But I’m gonna sound like a four-year-old.”

 

“Sounds about right,” Iolo teased, accepting the light punch to his arm good-naturedly.

 

“Well, if you’re gonna be a jerk, I don’t know if I want to hold your hand anymore,” Bastian announced haughtily, jerking his chin up.

 

Iolo rolled his eyes.  “You’re right—you do sound like a toddler,” he commented before reaching out and twining his fingers between Bastian’s, admiring the contrast in the soft, outer ring of the streetlight before his fingers were gripped in response.  “Let’s find a bench.”

 

“What if we don’t.”

 

“Uh, there’s lots of them,” Iolo frowned, brows furrowed.  “There’s one right there.”

 

“That’s not—look, do we have to do this whole sit-down-and-explain-to-the-poor-baby-what-a-summer-fling-is thing?”

 

Iolo hummed lowly, pulling the younger man over to the bench overlooking the bay.  “Yeah, we can skip that one.  I think I got the summer fling definition down by now.”

 

“Huh,” Bastian grunted, folding easily to sit next to Iolo at the older man’s tug.

 

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’ve been around the block once or twice,” Iolo continued lightly.  “And I know a thing or two about summer flings and I know for damn sure that’s not what we’ve been doing.  Unless this is the most PG summer fling ever to happen between two people over the age of twelve.”

 

“I—that’s not my fault!  You weren’t even interested,” Bastian accused.

 

Iolo felt his facial muscles relaxed and bowed his head with a rueful chuckle.  “I’m going to plead the fifth on that one.”  Bastian let out a long groan at that, and the redhead squeezed their joined hands.  “Did you have a good trip?”

 

“Let me think about that,” the younger man mused, tapping his finger against his chin exaggeratedly.  Iolo exhaled in a breathy laugh, looking up through his lashes and catching Bastian’s quick wink.  “I had the _best_ trip, Iolo Arana.”

 

“Me too,” Iolo said quickly, and Bastian narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

 

“You didn’t go anywhere.”

 

“I took a trip from—reality or sanity or both,” Iolo laughed with a shake of his head.  “I’m not sure how to break this to you but—that guy you’ve been hanging out for the past week?  That wasn’t me.  No,” the redhead continued quickly as Bastian opened his mouth, “seriously.  I don’t deal with spontaneity well.  If my schedule gets thrown off, I’m basically screwed for the whole day.  Poe has to book things like dinners out in my calendar at least two weeks in advance or I freak out.”

 

“Yeah, no, I kinda figured that out,” Bastian shrugged and then laughed as the older man’s jaw dropped.  “You weren’t exactly subtle about that, man.  I thought I was gonna need to do some CPR when you thought I was using the wrong coloring book.”

 

“Well, imagine that but twenty-four, seven.”

 

“I have.  Frequently, actually,” Bastian replied easily, eyes focused off in the distance over Iolo’s left shoulder.  “And, I dunno but—it kinda worked, right?  Like this week kinda rocked, didn’t it, and last week was almost better.”

 

“Last week you passed the fuck out because you’re an idiot,” Iolo countered flatly, hoping to keep the white noise rushing in his ears at bay.

 

Bastian cast his eyes upwards with a deep, put-upon sigh.  “I didn’t pass out,” he stated patiently, “and you weren’t complaining about staying with me.”

 

“What, I was supposed to have your dead body and Gibraltar’s sad eyes on my conscience?”

 

“Finn told me you didn’t even like Gibby before I came around,” Bastian said smugly, and Iolo’s right eyebrow lifted skeptically.

 

“Yeah?  Your brother tell you anything else?”

 

Bastian rolled his eyes.  “Sure, he told me about fifty million times that I’m going back to California.”

 

“You are,” Iolo agreed with a firm nod, bringing his other hand to cup the back of Bastian’s, still intertwined with his.  “You’ve still got a lot to do out there, you know.”

 

“If I drop accounting I could probably graduate early.”

 

“Finn would kill you,” Iolo responded bluntly.  “And then kill me.”

 

“And he says I’m too young to try to tie anyone down,” Bastian mumbled to his lap, and Iolo nodded even if the effect was lost.  “But he’s only twenty-four so I don’t think he can talk.”

 

“Maybe not,” the redhead allowed, earning a flash of a grin, “but I remember what it’s like to be twenty and in college.”

 

“Right, you rode pterodactyls to class and discovered fire as your senior thesis.”

 

“Shut up, you,” Iolo snapped kindly, cheeks lifting in amusement.  “At least admit I’ve got a point.”

 

“Do your friends laugh when you do,” Bastian asked abruptly, apropos of nothing as far as Iolo could follow.

 

“Uh, I guess, yeah,” the redhead blinked owlishly.  “I mean, they don’t laugh at me—it’s usually a mutual thing.”

 

“Mine don’t,” Bastian said flatly, eyes on Iolo’s.  “They either think I’m being serious when I’m kidding or I’m joking when I’m honest.  And they never nag me about my iron pills or tease me about the stupid stuff I say or do because they just ignore it now.”

 

“Sound like kind of crappy friends, Bas,” Iolo offered, and the younger man snorted.

 

“They’re fine,” he shrugged.  “But what I’m saying is—even if we’re not going to tie each other down or draw out this not-a-summer-fling thing, you’re kinda stuck with me.  So you’re gonna have to tell me how stuck you wanna be ‘cause it’s happening one way or another.”

 

The white noise had escalated, and Iolo could feel his eyes bulging, his mind clouded and unfocused and his breathing stuttered.  Bastian smiled softly, his right hand lifting and gently pressing over Iolo’s rapidly pounding heart. 

 

“Relax, Lo.  Just tell me the first thing that comes to mind.”

 

“You’re incredible,” the redhead gasped. 

 

Bastian blinked once, twice, and then his smile widened until his teeth shone and his eyes almost disappeared in a merry squint.  “That’s all I need to know.  And, dead serious, you’re the first person to ever say that to me.”

 

“Well,” Iolo breathed, forcing himself to take deeper inhales.  He cleared his throat and glanced down, noticing that his knuckles had gone white from compressing Bastian’s hands and a little too slowly forcing his grip to loosen.  “Well.  I think that’s all I need to know too.”

 

“Finn says there’s some two-year bargain or something,” Bastian hinted, jokingly, and the redhead coughed out a dry laugh.

 

“Yeah.  Part of the dowry.”

 

Bastian hummed thoughtfully.  “Don’t think that means you’re gonna be spared from the texts though.”

 

“Only if it’s an emergency.”

 

“Code Reds,” Bastian smirked gleefully.

 

“We might fuck this up, you know,” Iolo gulped with a tentative smile.

 

“Maybe you will—I’m incredible.”

 

“Christ, what the hell did I get myself in to?”

 

“Blame the dog groomer gestapo, man.”

 

_Friday, June 1 st—Two Years Later_

 

At 5:46 PM, Iolo’s playlist was cut off by an incoming call.  The redhead’s thumb was poised to dismiss the call—is fourteen minutes too much to ask? —when he saw the caller’s name.  He heaved a sigh because it made him feel better even as he accepted the call and brought the phone to his ear.

 

“Hey, you,” he greeted, rubbing the heel of his right hand against his eye, pulling at the skin slightly.

 

“Hi, _Iolo Arana_ ,” came the overly bright reply.  “Now, I know what you’re thinking--,”

 

“Want to bet on that,” Iolo chuckled, leaning back on his stool, resting the back of his head against the wall, and glancing out the window.

 

“You’re thinking,” Bastian continued, undeterred, “ ‘what is _Bastian Skywalker_ doing, calling me right now when he _knows_ I have thirteen minutes left of work.’”

 

“Close,” Iolo allowed, hooking his feet behind the rung of the stool.

 

“Well, I’m sorry to put you out,” Bastian huffed dramatically, “but really, it’s all Finn’s fault.”

 

“Is it now?”

 

“ _Yes_ ,” Bastian replied emphatically, and Iolo could picture the firm, short nod that accompanied the word.  “You see, Finn was all ‘you need to come to this suit fitting’ and I was like ‘bro, I’m in California’ and he was like ‘best brother in the world, if you don’t come to this suit fitting my whole wedding is ruined.’”

 

“Sounds about right,” Iolo agreed, his eyes darting over to where his own navy blue suit jacket and pants were hanging in a clear dry cleaner bag on the coat rack next to the door.

 

“So I couldn’t have Finn’s ruined wedding on my conscience, ya know?  So anyway--,”

 

There was a beep, and Iolo pulled his phone away from his ear with a frown, the Call Disconnected message flashing on the screen.  Not for the first time, the redhead complained silently to himself that Bastian needed to get a new cell service because half their calls got cut off and it’s not like the younger man was calling from Dubai and his well-rehearsed speech was halted by a screeching, drawn-out doorbell buzzer.

 

“For the love of God,” Iolo groused, easing himself to his feet.  “Coming!  Cut that out,” he called over the headache-inducing piercing alarm.  He plastered on his most intimidating scowl as he flicked the deadbolt open and wrenched the door open.

 

“Can you show where this tailor is ‘cause I’m totally lost,” Bastian finished with a small smile, his hands above his head, bracing his weight against either side of the doorframe, his light blue shirt hitching up to reveal his curved hipbones. 

 

Iolo swallowed, closed his eyes and then opened them wide, scanning the other man in shock which slowly morphed into cautious excitement as he took in the rows of colored thread bracelets, white framed sunglasses hooked into the small V of his t-shirt collar, the tight black jeans covering long legs, and the burgundy Vans with scuffed toes.

 

“Fuck you,” Iolo exhaled, gaze darting back to Bastian’s face and seeing the smile widen gleefully.

 

“Dude, you have no idea how hard it was to keep this a secret—seriously, Poe can totally trust me with our secret handshake ‘cause I’m the master of secrets now and—whoa, careful with the merchandise,” he giggled as Iolo wrapped his hands around the younger man’s waist and jerked him into the apartment, stepping them back until the door closed.  Bastian’s eyes glinted mischievously, grasping the redhead’s shoulders and pulling him along until Bastian’s back was against the apartment door.  “But seriously, Finn’s gonna annihilate me if I don’t get to the tailor by six.”

 

“You should’ve thought of that before you came popping up here at five forty-six,” Iolo said softly, resting the bridge of his nose against the younger man’s forehead and inhaling.

 

Bastian’s body shivered with another giggle, his arms draping over Iolo’s shoulders, one hand pulling and petting at the thin hairs on the back of his neck.  “I was already pushing my luck, showing up during working hours.”

 

Iolo breathed out a chortle, shaking his head slightly and Bastian’s followed the movement.  “I’ll forgive you, just this once.”

 

“I mean, it’s kind of a big emergency, if you think about it,” the younger man wheedled.

 

“Not as big as the one when Finn realizes you’re missing your fitting.”

 

Bastian drew back enough to tilt his head and squint at Iolo’s face.  “You serious?”

 

“Code Red serious,” Iolo smirked.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Kudos and comments are relished and thoroughly marveled at. I aim to reply to all comments.
> 
> The title is taken from Panic! at the Disco's song, which I highly recommend listening to after reading this because they fit pretty well.


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